


Sang et Lumière

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-War, Romance, Smut, Werewolf Biology, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf!Draco, canon-divergent, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-10-03 23:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17293058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: *8th Year* Late one night, Hermione hears a sound that chills her bones—a howling from the Forbidden Forest, yet all werewolves fled at the end of the War. When she finds Draco stumbling back into the castle the next morning, she becomes his confidante . . . and something more. SPORADIC UPDATES





	1. A Return of Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> 1) I know I said I was done with Dramione, but I also have always said I'll write any plunnie which occurs to me, so here we are. I blame this one on the influence of my dear friend Kittenshift17.
> 
> 2) Updates may be sporadic. Chapter lengths will vary (some may be over 4k, some may be under 2k).
> 
> 3) Some plot elements in SeL will revisit points I've touched upon in other fics (mostly to do with Hermione's heritage/lineage).
> 
> Fenrir Greyback Fancast (because he will show up at some point): Jason Momoa
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit from this story.

**CHAPTER ONE**

A Return of Wolves

"Miss Granger!" Professor Slughorn was equally pleased and surprised to find the Gryffindor witch still toiling away in the potions laboratory. But it was getting rather late; he really hoped the poor thing had returned here after dinner, rather than having worked straight through the meal. With Hermione Granger, it could quite easily be the latter.

"Oh." She glanced up from her work for only a moment, speaking as she returned her attention to the beaker before her. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to startle you."

The young woman was so absorbed in her efforts, he could not help but think back on the question he'd asked her upon first learning her name—if she might not be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, founder of The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Of course, she hadn't the foggiest idea if she were and dismissed the notion. As most Muggle-borns weren't familiar with the long-forgotten Wizarding ancestry, Horace couldn't say he was much surprised at her denial of the possibility.

"Whatever are you toiling away at so very early in the year?"

"Oh, well, it's  _mostly_  just calculations, now, with a  _few_ experimental concoctions, of course," she said with a shrug as the stout man crossed the room the stand beside her workstation. "But, I suppose I won't have to explain to you what you're looking at."

Nodding, he scanned her scrolls spread across the table with his gaze. For several moments, he chewed at his lower lip in thought. The longer he examined her work, the higher his brows climbed his forehead.

"An all-purpose rejuvenating potion? This is an extraordinary idea, Miss Granger." Straightening up, he scratched his head. "Though, I have to tell you, you'd not be the first to consider creating such a thing. But, I dare say, there's a fairly good chance you might be the first one to get it to work."

"Well, yes, yes," she said, her tone breathless in her excitement. "I'm aware. You see, logic would dictate that in order to create a potion that would heal any sort of injury—burns, broken bones, bruises, cuts—one would need to simply combine the individual potions which treat those individual injuries."

The professor shrugged. "The problem with combining fully-realized potions is that some of the ingredients may counteract one another, or worse, catalyze one another into some combustible effect."

"Exactly!" Hermione held up a finger, grinning. "So, the obvious answer is to establish which ingredients don't counteract, or catalyze, one another, and to either alter the amounts necessary to still be effective without causing a negative reaction, or find non-reactive ingredients that can substitute for the problematic ones."

Horace's face fell in shock. Of course she was correct, and it was so simple! "My word."

She found it incredibly difficult to control her excitement, now. "So you think I could really be on to something?"

"Yes, yes I do!" However, just watching her expression brighten with her currently bubbly demeanor reminded him how tired he was. Luckily, he knew he could trust her, of  _all_ students, not to blow up his laboratory if left unattended. "I'll not keep you from your research, then, Miss Granger. I'll be honored to look over your notes, should you ever have questions and, of course, you're welcome to use this room, or my potions stores when you have need. Though, I would prefer if you let Professor McGonagall know of your . . . project, as well."

"Of course, I'll try to speak to her tomorrow about it. Thank you, Professor. Goodnight."

As she returned to her work, the professor bid her goodnight and headed off to his quarters. Given what he'd just witnessed, he'd be damned surprised to learn she  _didn't_ have some of Hector Dagworth-Granger's blood in her veins.

* * *

Hermione gave her head a shake. The words before her were beginning to run together. Damn, what she wouldn't give for a cup of coffee, right now. A strong one.

But, she knew better. She could feel how late it was, despite that this was a basement room, with no windows to allow her to see just how high the moon was in the sky. She desperately wanted to keep working, but she understood that if she kept on like this, she might make a mistake.

And it was hardly as though there was a rush on this self-assigned project.

Allowing herself a yawn, she stretched and stood from her stool. There was all of eighth year for her to perfect this potion. She had something, now, the last seven years had not always afforded her— _time_.

She carefully cleared her work station, shuffling her scrolls into her bag and replacing her unused potions ingredients in their proper containers. Exiting the dungeon laboratory as quietly as she could, she withdrew her wand, igniting the tip to help her along the darker corridors.

When she spoke to Professor McGonagall tomorrow, she would also have to thank her for allowing 'War Heroes,' such as herself, greater freedom of movement on the school grounds. She'd never have the time or freedom to work on her potion if she had to worry about keeping to curfew.

She started up the staircase that led to the ground floor of the castle from the Slytherin dungeons. Honestly, she felt relieved as she noticed the first strains of moonlight slicing across the night-darkened Main Hall when she reached the top step.

Even in the bright, airy illumination of morning, she would've found herself unsettled being down there alone. Uttering a scoffing sound, she shook her head. "Afraid of the dungeons? Oh, yes! Some War Hero  _you_  are, Hermione."

Snickering at herself, she started across the floor toward the landing of the central staircase.

That was when she heard it. The sound raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck and caused a tight coil of unease to wind in the pit of her stomach.

Swallowing hard, she looked toward the nearest of the Main Hall's enormous windows. It hadn't been her imagination. The light pouring through  _had_  been bright . . . because a full moon hung in the sky.

Hearing the sound, once more, she blinked hard, ignoring the stinging in the tip of her nose.

_Howling . . . ._ She'd not been fearful of werewolves—at least not anymore than anyone else, she supposed—before the War, but now? After Fenrir Greyback's attempts to claim her as his during the War, the sound of a werewolf's howl splitting the night filled her with dread.

But all the werewolves inhabiting the Forbidden Forest had either died in the War, or fled out of fear of being captured and sent to Azkaban for siding with Voldemort. There  _were_ no more of them residing in the woods on the school grounds—Firenze had assured the school staff of that.

She waited, listening. Not just for more noises from the Forest, but from any within the castle. For anyone whose sleep might've been disturbed by the howls.

_Nothing_.

If there were no resident werewolves, then . . . . Forcing a gulp down her throat, she could not seem to stop herself from drawing closer to the window. Peering out into the distant treeline, she exhaled sharply.

If there were no resident werewolves, then that howling could only mean the werewolf she was hearing was someone from the school. And she was the only one awake to hear it.

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. She'd been through too bloody much to let fear rule her. She was going to take control of this situation by finding out who the werewolf in their midst was. She was going to see their face by the cold light of morning, and prove to herself there wasn't anything to fear. This didn't have to be another Fenrir Greyback.

Nodding to herself, she swallowed hard. This might be another Remus Lupin, and she could not let her fright rule her while someone might need help.

There were a few hours, still, until sunrise, but she wouldn't be able to sleep, now, anyway. No.  _Now_ was the time to set a trap, and catch herself a werewolf.

* * *

He was weary, beaten-feeling, as he dragged himself back to the castle. He knew this was the alternative that would keep him from getting sickly, as Remus Lupin had been. Not that he could see much difference between himself and the one-time professor, now. Lean and scarred and tired.

He dearly hoped this . . .  _other route_  was worth feeling like this level of hell the next morning.

Drained as he was, he didn't notice the flicker of energy surrounding the boundary of the school grounds. It was still early enough that he could crawl into bed and manage an hour of sleep before faculty and students woke up and started their day, and that was all he could think about—letting his exhausted body rest.

A blissful hour of nothingness . . . . He was so distracted with the pretty daydream of slumber, he didn't feel the faint crackle as he stepped through the muted line of energy—the magical equivalent of a tripwire, the caster would later tell him.

He whirled so fast to face the distinct popping sound of someone coming out of _Apparition_  right behind him that it made his weary head spin.

Swallowing down a wave of nausea that accompanied the dizziness, he squeezed his eyes shut. In an attempt to steady himself, he pressed the heel of one palm against his forehead.

_Merlin's greying_  fucking  _beard_! This was worse than the morning after he—a mere eight years old at the time—had sneaked some of his mother's Fairy Draught Wine.

" _Malfoy_?!"

Oh,  _God,_  no! He recognized that voice—especially when shrieked at him in an accusatory tone. "Granger?" Giving his head a shake, he forced open his eyes.

She stared at him, her chestnut eyes wide in disbelief as her wandarm fell limp at her side.

With another gulp, he scrambled for something to say. "I—I don't know what you think I was up to last night, but it's not—"

"You're a werewolf?!" she asked in a shouted whisper.

Draco's entire frame seemed to slump as he blinked down at her. "Oh." He gave wobbly nod as he processed her question. "It . . . it is what you think. How did you—?"

"I was working late last night and I heard you howling," as she spoke, she looked him over. Now that she knew who the werewolf was, her fear had all but vanished; he was a mess, appearing as though he'd spent the entire evening wrestling with a bramble bush. "You look terrible."

His face draining of what little color had been there, he glanced down at himself. "I think I don't look half-bad, all things considered."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're a mess." Quite without thought, she stepped up beside him and looped her arm through his. "I'm taking you to the hospital wing."

He pulled out of her loose grip with a sudden, unexpected burst of energy. "No. No, you can't! Madame Pomfrey will—she'll figure out what I am and I'll be thrown out of school. All of Wizarding Britain will know by tomorrow morning!"

"Draco, you're not in any condition to—"

" _Please_ , Granger!"

Hermione drew in a deep breath through her nostrils and exhaled slow. Maybe . . . maybe they could help one another. He needed patching up before breakfast, and she wanted to know how this had happened to him. Maybe, if she patched him up, he'd be willing to share his story.

"All right, c'mon."

His brows shot up into the fringe of pale hair hanging over his forehead as the witch started off, and thoughtlessly reached back, slipping her hand into his. Tugged along behind her on sluggish footfalls, Draco shook his head, mildly confused. "Where are we going? It'd better _not_  be the hospital wing. I just said—"

"No, no. You've made your stance on that quite clear." She trooped him back into the Main Hall, pausing to listen for any sounds from the other levels of the castle. Assured they were the only ones awake—aside from Peeves snickering somewhere, no doubt over some minor calamity, timed to happen when the corridors filled with students in a little while—she continued dragging him toward the staircase that led to the dungeons.

"Um, Granger?"

She sighed. "Yes, Malfoy?"

"Where are we going?"

"The potions laboratory. I was . . . working on something that might help you. At least with the superficial injuries."

"Well," he said under his breath as they descended the staircase, "that's strangely convenient."

"Don't be snarky, Malfoy. In fact, just be quiet. Let's try not to wake the professor. Can't think of how to explain to him why you nearly look as though you ran face-first into the Whomping Willow."

Draco paused as they reached the dungeon floor. Their hands still clasped, his sudden halt inadvertently forced Hermione to turn and face him.

"What?" she asked, her eyebrows pinching together.

"Why don't we?"

Her pinched brows raised. "Why don't we  _what_?"

"Blame it on the Whomping Willow."

Sighing, she turned back around, tugging him along once more. "If you're going to do this to yourself every full moon, then perhaps we should save that excuse for when you actually  _do_ look like you've run into it, not just nearly."

Watching the back of her head as they continued down the corridor, he nodded. "Fair point."

* * *

"I got in Greyback's way at some point during the Battle of Hogwarts. It's all a bit fuzzy in hindsight." Draco sighed, shrugging. "I think that's enough said on  _that_. I've been putting up with this ever since. I think he's the only werewolf who can bite someone when it's not a full moon, and still pass along his curse."

"I'm pretty sure you're right. He does seem a special case; more beast than man on a regular basis, that one. Open your robes, please."

"Pardon?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him and rolled her eyes. "So I can see how bad it is? And no doubt, you'll have some scrapes and bruises where you can't reach, anyway."

"Oh, o'course. Sorry." His words were followed by the rustling of fabric.

"I still don't understand," she said, shaking her head as she finished mixing an upgraded version of the Weasley brothers' bruise paste. The essence of dittany was already prepared, cuts first, bruises second she'd decided. "Why aren't you simply taking a wolfsbane potion to stop the transformations?"

"Well . . . that was Mother's research into the matter. Father doesn't know, but my mother came to understand the difference between Greyback and . . . ." Realizing the man he was about to mention was her friend—her dead friend—he rerouted. "And some other werewolves, was that Greyback was so strong because he embraced what he was. Those who fight it, well, you've seen how the curse beats them up. Whittling away their health and their life."

Hermione's shoulders slumped as she thought of Remus. Always so exhausted, always seeming as though he was just on the edge of coming down with some illness or another. Swallowing hard, she nodded. She wouldn't comment that she recognized his leaving Remus' name out of the discussion. There was too much to wrap her head around with him simply being that kind that she couldn't think of what to say about it, anyway.

"So, we devised a way for me to embrace the wolf without endangering anyone. Before the moon rises, I just . . . go into the Forest, ward the area around me and hide my wand. When the change comes, I'm trapped. Once I'm myself in the morning, I find my wand, dispel the ward, and stumble back. I didn't expect I'd be such a mess. The Forbidden Forest is far more dangerous ground than the woods behind my family's manor, apparently."

She snickered, uncapping the essence of dittany and taking up the dropper in her free hand. "That hadn't occurred to you beforehand?"

Draco actually laughed. "I know it seems it  _should've_ , but I suppose I simply wasn't thinking beyond this being the first full moon of the school year."

"That's strangely commendable, especially given the source."

When she turned to examine him for injuries, she couldn't help but pause. Draco Malfoy was . . . . Was . . . .

His grey eyes shot wide as he dropped his gaze to look himself over. "Dear Merlin, is it that bad?"

_Fit._

"No, no."  _I just wasn't expecting you to look like that._ She'd always thought he'd be thin beneath his robes, given his slender stature, but he was wiry. Long, lean muscles that had her forcing a gulp down her throat. "I just don't think I was ever expecting to be in the same room with you while you're in any state of undress. It's kind of funny."

He laughed, nodding. "I'll say it. Knowing you has been a strange time in my life, Granger."

"I could say the same about you, Malfoy. Turn 'round, we'll start with your back."

Nodding again, he pivoted, putting his back to her. Hermione swallowed hard, once more, her gaze trailing over the lines of his shoulder blades before she started applying the dittany.

He let out a hissing breath. "That stings."

"You're a werewolf, and you're complaining about a little dittany?"

"To be fair, I  _am_  still new at this." Draco winced, but kept any further sounds of discomfort to himself. "Listen, Granger?"

"Hmm?" Finishing up with the cuts, she set down the vial and dropper and picked the bruise paste.

"You're not going to tell anyone about me, are you?"

"I don't see why I should. Your first priority seems to be protecting others from your curse, so . . . . As long as you don't pose a danger to anyone, I've no reason to tell." She could only think of Sirius and James, going so far as to become illegal Animagi to keep up with Remus, to keep his secret.

She and Draco were hardly friends, but he was trying to do the right thing, and that had to count for something.

"Thank you. But, um . . . ."

Leaning around his shoulder, she met his gaze. "Um . . . ?"

"Do you think . . . if I need your help like this again . . . ?"

"Turn around, please," she said, her tone mildly exasperated.

He did as instructed holding up his arms so she could easily spot any bruises or scrapes that might run along his sides. His gaze averted, he tried very hard not to look at her as she leaned close to his bare chest, administering the healing concoctions.

There was the strangest inclination to hold his breath. He knew he must be imagining the unfamiliar flicker of warm energy between them.

"You haven't answered me, Granger."

Hermione chewed at her lower lip a moment, trying not to think too much on his closeness. There was something odd going on right now, but she told herself it was an effect of the restless night they'd both had.

"I suppose this isn't really the sort of thing you can tell your friends."

Draco snorted a chuckle. "Don't really have those these days."

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look up, meeting his gaze. "Your mum's really the only one who knows?"

He only stared at her for a few heartbeats. Sparing a moment to search her face, he returned his attention to her eyes as he nodded.

She let out a sigh. "Suppose I can hardly continue thinking of myself as a compassionate person if I turned you away. Fine. I'll help you."

A tension he hadn't realized he'd held drained out of him, then. "Thank you, Granger! You're a lifesaver."

The witch shook her head. "Don't I know it."

Silence fell between them as she worked the last of the paste into a particularly nasty bruise just over his solar plexus. She tried to ignore the feel of his skin pressed beneath her fingertips.

There was nothing strange, or . . . pulse-quickening about this. Nothing at  _all_.

"Last thing," she said, switching the paste for the dittany, once more. "You've got some scrapes on your face. Shut your eyes, please." The scrapes were nowhere  _near_ his eyes, but for some strange reason, she didn't think she'd be able to focus with him looking at her so close.

"I think this idea your mother came up with—to embrace your inner-wolf, so to speak, so you don't suffer ill-effects of fighting the curse, but in a way that safeguards those around you—is a brilliant approach, actually. But it is something that might not be easy to manage here at school, under so many watchful eyes. You're  _going_  to need my help if you're to keep anyone from figuring you out. And . . . one hand washes another."

He cracked open one eye, meeting her gaze with a quizzical expression. "Which means what, in this context?"

Arching a brow, she paused as she was about to apply the dittany to the last scrape. "Didn't you wonder why I knew precisely where to find all the ingredients to make healing concoctions?"

"Honestly?"

Her shoulders slumping at the shock in his voice, she nodded.

"Of course, I didn't. It's  _you_ , Granger."

As his words sank in, she could not help a smirk curving a corner of her mouth upward. "Is that a compliment?"

He shrugged, rolling his eyes as she finally treated that last scrape. "Don't make a fuss, probably won't happen again."

Giggling, she turned away to start closing up containers. "Okay, we're finished." Again, there was the rustling of fabric behind her as he pulled his robes back up over his shoulders and closed them.

After she had everything squared away, she pivoted on her heel, facing him, once more. She was unspeakably relieved to see him fully clothed, again. "You're looking better, already. No doubt, you'll be all cleared up by breakfast. Anyway, what I meant to tell you  _is_  I'm working on an all-purpose rejuvenating potion. I'll help you keep this a secret . . . you help me by being the test subject for potion trials."

His brows shot up. "Sure, that doesn't sound precisely as dangerous as running into the Forbidden Forest and changing into a mindless beast once a month."

She laughed, a strange moment of camaraderie passing between them as she slapped his arm. "I'm serious."

"So am I." Draco shook his head, an uncertain half-grin playing on his lips. "But fine. Which means we've got a month's time to look up all the antidotes for any possible side effects I might suffer from whatever you could posssibly whip up."

Casting her gaze toward the ceiling as she thought that over, she nodded. "That sounds fair enough. So, now? How do you feel?"

The pale-haired young man stood pin-straight. Squaring his shoulders, he inhaled, long and deep. "Actually, I feel pretty good. I'm even a bit less tired, I think. This is . . . ." His voice trailed off as he flared his nostrils.

Hermione frowned. "What is it?"

Blinking hard, he caught her gaze. "Is that you?"

She arched a brow. "I am the only other person in the room, so I'd assume so."

"No, no. I mean . . . ." Against his better judgement, he stepped closer to her. There was some scent winding off her . . . . Something he'd never have noticed, had he not become this  _thing_ he was, now.

The sudden closeness of him forced her to backpedal, trapping her between his body and the table of the workstation behind her. The witch's heart hammered against her ribcage and she was acutely aware of the warmth of him as he pressed nearer. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to will the rapid thudding of her pulse to steady.

Bracing his hands on either side of her, he dipped his head, taking a long sniff of the skin below her ear.

Her eyes drifted closed, unable to help a sweet little shiver coursing through her at the feel of his breath against her throat. "Draco?" she asked, her voice a barely audible thread of sound. "What are you—?"

The way he pulled back—only enough to meet her gaze, his body still  _too_  close to hers—cut off her question.

She thought her heart might actually stop in her chest at the words that fell from his lips as they stared at one another.

"Granger . . . . What  _are_  you?"


	2. A Conscious Effort

**Chapter Two**

A Conscious Effort

_"What_ are _you?"_

Hermione frowned, sitting up and punching her fist against her pillow that night. She had no idea what he could've meant by that. She knew that, despite their agreement, she'd avoided him the entire next day. There was the terrible side effect that it highlighted how lonely this final year was already turning out.

Though  _she'd_  considered it important to formally complete her education, many of her friends who'd fought alongside her in the War had felt there was nothing left to learn. Others had gone off to different schools to complete their education. The Weasleys were gone, Harry was already in an Auror training program directly within the Ministry, Neville was working on-hand with St. Mungo's Healers to find an herbal concoction that might reverse his parents' condition.

Everyone left behind knew her name, but so few of them knew  _her_. Yet, another thing which compounded the absence of her friends.

Well . . . she'd  _tried_  to avoid Draco. When her sleepless night caught up with her mid-day, and she found a quiet corner in the castle courtyard during what should've been her lunch—at that point, sleepiness outweighed hunger—she nearly tripped over Malfoy, already dozing in the same quiet corner.

Not nearly, actually. She  _had_  stumbled over his foot as she attempted to backpedal and tipped forward, waking him up unpleasantly by landing on him. It was all a jumble, now, but she was  _nearly_  positive she'd apologized as she scrambled off him. She was  _almost_  certain that after his shock abated, he looked upset as he tried to find something to say.

She never heard whatever words he might've used, because she spun on her heel and hurried off, the start the incident had given her jarring any trace of exhaustion from her system.

She tried to get time with Professor McGonagall, but her duties as Headmistress were keeping her quite busy this early in the year. However, Hermione did manage to arrange to a meeting with the elder witch tomorrow after lunch.

Now, as she lay in bed, when she should be drifting into slumber without issue given how long she'd gone without sleep, she found herself going over the incident. Frowning, she lay down and pressed her cheek tight against her pillow.

_What_ are _you?_

If she thought on it too long, she could still feel the way he was pressed so close to her as he held her gaze. She could recall the whisper of his breath on her lips as he asked that strange question.

_"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head as she stared back at him. "What could you possibly mean by that?"_

What the bloody hell was wrong with her that the way Draco Malfoy's grey eyes looked in that moment caused her pulse to quicken?

_Then he did it, again. She had to remind herself to breathe as he ducked his head close, once more, inhaling deep of the skin at her throat._

_Her eyelids drifted down, and she shuddered, leaning heavily against the workstation table behind her. There was the strangest inclination to move closer, to press forward—into him—as he took yet another whiff, the tip of his nose touching the sensitive spot just behind her earlobe._

_Draco pulled back, and she had to snap herself out of it, meeting his gaze._

_"Your scent. It's . . . you don't smell quite like other humans."_

_Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "I don't quite . . . ?" Her brow furrowing, she felt like she'd lost the ability to comprehend basic English as she stared into his eyes. "What_  do _I smell like, then?"_

_"I don't know how to explain it, exactly." Draco hadn't moved away from her, and his voice was low, as though they were deep in some intimate conversation in the midst of a crowd, rather than already alone in a quiet room together. "But something about your scent reminds me of the woods. You smell human, but . . . you also smell like something wild."_

_She didn't understand what he was saying, and she didn't understand why she was responding to his closeness this way. Like she wanted to grab him and pull him closer, still. Like she wanted to feel his hands on her, fingertips trailing and nails scraping. Wanted him to press his face against her throat, again. To rake the edge of his teeth against her skin, and—_

_His eyes snapped shut, tight, as he murmured in a rumbling tone, "Whatever you're thinking right now, Granger, I'm_  begging  _you to stop."_

_Hermione realized, then, that of course if he had even a fraction of a wolf's senses in the wake of the full moon—a fact clearly evidenced by his sniffing of her skin—than he would be able to tell by her scent exactly how his closeness was making her feel._

_"Oh, dear God," she said, mortified._

_Pushing him away, she grabbed up her bag and dashed toward the door. She knew from the sound of his voice that he'd pivoted to watch her go as she stepped into the corridor._

_"Granger, don't . . . . Dammit!"_

* * *

The next morning, Hermione was embarrassed that falling asleep while thinking back on the previous morning had fueled some  _wildly_  inappropriate dreams of her former academic rival and wartime enemy. She'd mostly managed to put it in the back of her mind. Her slumber had been less than restful, however, and she went through the first half of her day with her gaze downcast as she made her way through corridors, and jotted down her class notes purely by reflex without really registering the lessons.

Then, barreling through the corridors, yet again, on her way from class to the Great Hall for lunch, she collided with someone just outside the wide double doors.

There was a coil of dread in the pit of her stomach as she thought she knew who it was. The lean build, the height . . . . The green and silver trim of his school robes . . . .

She righted herself and muttered an apology. Her attempt to backpedal and step around him was cut short by his fingers wrapping around her upper arms.

"Granger!" he snapped, giving her a gentle shake.

Swallowing hard, she darted her eyes up to lock with his. Hermione felt an instant tingle of heat zip through her as a wash of color flooded her cheeks. Just as she'd feared, seeing his face made her dream impossible to ignore.

A warm mouth at her throat, biting and lapping. Fingers stroking her skin. The sound of his voice saying her name in a rushed breath. His body, warm and solid as he pressed tight against her . . . .

In her dream, though, his eyes were not grey as they were now. They had been brilliant, reflective amber.  _Like a wolf._

His nostrils flared. Draco would not typically be able to pluck out an individual scent from the myriad smells crowding the castle corridor around them. Perhaps it was their proximity, perhaps it was something more base—that he was subconsciously seeking out her scent—but again, he found that other hint winding through it. Just as had happened yesterday morning in the potions lab, he didn't know precisely what was going through her mind, but that heady tinge she emitted was certainly making some _interesting_  images run through his.

Probably helped along by that strange hint of wildness . . . thoughts of being in the forest. Of leaning close, of feeling the heat of her body against his. Of the moonlight bathing her skin as he sank his fingers into her hair and pulled her head back.

Of what her lower lip would taste like beneath the sweep of his tongue.

Her chestnut eyes widened as she noticed the wash of pink tinting his fair cheeks.  _Oh, no. Not again._ Now they were  _both_  blushing, and she didn't see that as any sort of improvement on the situation.

"Sorry," she said, trying to brush off his hands.

Shaking his head, he kept his grip on her arms firm, but gentle. "Granger, stop!"

"Look, Malfoy, this is all very strange for me—"

"You're not the only one!" He spat out the words with a bewildered look on his face.

"I don't know what _this_  is, and I've no idea why I should . . . ." She let her voice trail off as she glanced about, seeing the population within the corridor had thinned dramatically, and now it was really just the two of them lingering before the Great Hall doors. The witch dropped her voice to a whisper, anyway. "I've no idea why I should smell any different from any other person. But I just . . . I know whatever happened yesterday morning, it's changing things between you and I, and I don't think I know how to process that."

"I understand,  _believe_ me, I do." He nodded, his hands slipping down her arms, seemingly of their own volition, until his fingers were clasped around hers. "But we agreed to help each other, didn't we?"

Her shoulders slumped as she nodded.

"How are we supposed to make  _that_  work if we can't even look at one another?"

"I don't know. I have no answers for this."

Draco snickered. "That must be driving you _mad_."

A half-smile curved Hermione's lips in spite of herself and she appeared to sag in relief where she stood. " _So_  mad, you've no idea!"

"Pretty sure I just might, actually." His expression sobered a bit. "The first thing to do is acknowledge that this is odd for both of us, and then we handle this the way  _we_  handle things."

Her brows drew upward as she held his gaze. "And just how do  _we_  handle things, Draco?"

He had force a quick, quiet gulp down his throat as he kept his mind from tripping back to those  _interesting_  imaginings. "We're both smart, Granger—in fact, smart is a dramatic understatement—and smart people handle things by talking them through."

Again, she felt relieved. Of course it was a simple answer such as that. The only reason it hadn't occurred to her was because of how inexplicably flustered she got now being this close to him.

"So can we?" Draco tacked on before either of their imaginations could run off with them. "Talk this through, I mean?"

Hermione nodded. "Sure. Maybe . . . maybe we can begin with some research? Finding things that could cause a witch to smell not-quite-human to a werewolf's senses?"

"I suppose it's as good a starting point as any." He nodded back, aware finding an answer to that question would give her peace of mind, even if it wasn't quite one she was hoping for.

She ignored that as he turned and started leading her away from the Great Hall, he kept hold of one of her hands. He ignored that he was so very conscious of the weight of her gaze on his back as he tugged her along behind him toward the library. So very cognizant of the sound of her breath against the quiet afternoon air.

So _very_  aware of the warmth of her skin against his as they walked in silence.


	3. A Discovery Unexpected

**Chapter Three**

A Discovery Unexpected

Hermione slammed shut the book in front of her, folding her arms across her chest. She scowled. Well . . . a dark, angry grimace was more like it, as she stared off, her jaw set.

Lifting his gaze to her face from across the library table, Draco's brows shot up. Though, he somehow knew she could feel the weight of his attention on her, she didn't look at him.

"I'm going to take it you didn't find anything, yet."

"Nothing that makes sense, at least in context to myself, with my background and heritage." She sat forward, absently thumbing one corner of the book she'd just closed as she sighed. "There's no way I'm some sort of forest creature, I barely spend any time in the woods, and I'm not even especially fond of herbology. There doesn't seem to be  _any_  reason I should smell like some wild . . . thing."

At that, his brows drew together, but remained high on his forehead. Dropping his gaze back to the words before him, he asked, trying for a casual tone, "Well, how . . . how much do you  _actually_  know about your background and heritage?"

She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin against her palm. "My father's French-born, but moved to England as a child, Mum's family's from Oxford. All Muggle-borns are a reemergence of magic to a lineage formerly thought to lost due to a Squib birth, but whatever Wizarding line we're related to is so far back, there's no documented proof of whoever they were. There's nothing remarkable about my blood, whatsoever. I've been to Muggle doctors, and medi-witches, never once was there any moment of 'Oh, Dear! Look at this mystery thing we've discovered about you!'"

Draco closed his book, but held his place with one finger between the pages. "No, but I mean . . . you remember when the Snatchers dragged you to my family's manor?"

Shifting uncomfortably, she rolled her eyes so hard the lids fluttered. "Vividly."

"All right, bear with me a moment." Exhaling through his nostrils as he chewed at his bottom lip, his expression became thoughtful as he looked at her. "You remember how insistent Greyback was that he wanted you?"

The witch forced a gulp down her throat and nodded. "Vividly," she said, again.

"Well . . . ." Glancing about to assure there was no one around to overhear them, he leaned closer to her over the tabletop. " _He's_  a werewolf . . .  _I'm_ a werewolf, now. What if your scent is something that only appeals to werewolves, so it can only be detected  _by_  werewolves?"

Hermione sat back, her chestnut eyes widening as she held his gaze. "So  _you_  find the way I smell appealing, is what you're saying?" She was perfectly aware there was a larger point he was trying to make, but with how strange and . . . mildly blushy things had already gotten between them, it seemed she couldn't stop her mind from snagging on that point.

He clearly hadn't realized what she might pick out of his question when he'd asked it. Despite trying to keep his features schooled, he knew he was mirroring her expression, his grey eyes growing large, as well.

"Oh, I—I suppose, I mean, no."

"No?" Now her brows shot up.

He waved his free hand in a dismissive gesture. "I don't mean  _no_ , okay?"

"So you mean yes?"

"Look, I'm not sure why I even said that! I was just thought it was a good connection between . . . ." Draco let his voice trail off as he noticed the hint of a smirk curving one corner of her mouth.

At his sudden silence, Hermione couldn't help but snicker. They'd both been so serious, a little laugh felt good.

"Oh, you wicked woman, you," he said, chuckling in spite of himself.

"Okay." She folded her hands on the table. "I promise I'll behave. What were you trying to tell me? You know, _aside_  from how you find my scent appealing."

Draco scowled as he flipped the book open to the place he'd held. He wasn't certain if he liked or hated the sound of her hushed giggle at his displeased expression. "The title of this text is  _Lycanthropy: Lesser Known Facts and Theories—"_ He paused at the sound of curiosity she uttered, understanding it must mean she was wholly unfamiliar with the title, which was an instance to which she was probably quite unaccustomed. "It's newly published, I think an attempt to help people better understand werewolves in the wake of the War."

She nodded, dropping her gaze to her hands on the tabletop. The witch ignored the sudden stinging in the tip of her nose. "What with one of the heroes of the War having been a werewolf, himself, I can see why."

Draco shifted uncomfortably for a moment—he was going to pretend he hadn't noticed the damp glimmer in her eyes as she spoke. He might've been known to throw a tantrum or two in the past, but he'd never been very good with emotional displays from others.

Clearing his throat, he gave himself a little shake and went on. "One of the theories about why werewolves might seem drawn to certain humans more than others is a sort of boosted body chemistry. Here, it states,  _The tie between werewolves and humans is one that can never truly be severed, while humans do not need werewolves, the reverse cannot be said._   _Like humans, werewolves are driven to procreate, either through passing along their curse via biting, or_. . . ." He swallowed hard, once more shifting in his seat. " _Or by mating. Whether that mating occurs with a human during lesser moon phases, or with a wolf while transformed, the offspring—human or wolf—will retain the scent of the magical parent. Though, over time the scent may fade, it will always be present, in some degree, among the descendants of a werewolf._ "

Hermione felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach as his words sank in. "So . . . ." Licking her suddenly parched lips in an anxious gesture, she shook her head. "You're suggesting I've got werewolf blood?"

"I know it sounds far-fetched but, you don't know anything, really, about your Wizarding heritage, so maybe there's a chance this is—"

"No." She lifted her gaze to his, wondering dully in the back of her mind if he could see the rapid-fire thoughts being processed behind her eyes. "That . . . I think that makes sense, actually, I just . . . it never crossed my mind before."

Sitting up straighter, Draco closed the book and slid it aside. "Seems like a bit of a reach that you'd jump to accepting this so easily just from the scent-thing. There's something you're not telling me, Granger?"

With a deep breath, she shrugged. "It's not like I was deliberately not telling you. It's hardly as though you and I've ever been friends, so it's not something you had any reason to know."

His eyebrows shot up, but he couldn't deny that she was absolutely correct on that.

"I had never thought anything of it at the time, it was a desperate situation, and I did the first thing that occurred to me." She pulled her book in front of her, tugging lightly at the edges of the cover—not enough to damage it, she'd never do that, simply to keep her fidgeting fingers occupied and give herself something else to focus on while she talked. "It was in third year. You recall when Snape took over that DADA class session and just about forced us to study werewolves?"

Draco's gaze wandered for a moment as he thought back. "Of course I remember. You said werewolves respond to the call of their own kind and . . . oh, that's funny in a sort of ironic hindsight. I howled at you."

Sputtering a sad little laugh, she nodded. "I do recall that, yes. Anyway, when there was the incident with Sirius Black's escape . . . it was the night of the full moon, and Re—Professor Lupin was off his wolfsbane potion. Long story short," she said, pausing to take another deep, steadying breath, "he'd transformed, and he was going after Harry, so to distract him I . . . howled."

He blinked rapidly a few times. "So?"

The look of utter disbelief that flashed across her face nearly made him laugh. "So?" she echoed. "Dear God, man, I know you're as intelligent as I am, try to keep up. It never occurred to me before, because I never really thought about it, but that never should've worked! Yes, a human imitating a wolf howl sounds the same to human ears, but wolves—even werewolves—have a much greater range of hearing. There is no way a human imitating a wolf's howl would  _actually_  sound like one of its own kind to a werewolf unless—"

"Unless there _was_ something of the wolf in them," he concluded for her.

Bracing her elbows on the table, she dropped her face into her hands. She'd never questioned that moment before. Why had she never questioned it? Because it had been a split-second decision. Because it had been instinct . . . . Hermione forced a gulp down her throat as she felt her heart drop into her stomach.  _Because it had felt natural_. If this was all true, she understood, now, her bond with Remus. She'd still been a child at the time, he probably felt protective of her—her  _scent_ making him view her as a pup to be guarded without even fully realizing it.

That same scent that, as a young woman during the War, had drawn Fenrir Greyback's attention to her.

The scent that made Draco's eyes go a little hazy, caused his cheeks to flush and his breath to hitch when she thought on the wrong things too intensely.

Strangely, she didn't feel shocked. Certainly, she was blindsided by this revelation, but as she broke it down, as she realized she should've perhaps guessed this about herself sooner—had she the knowledge in that book at her disposal at the time, of course—what shock she might've felt subsided.

"Granger?"

She lifted her head from her hands to meet Draco's gaze. She didn't know if she should be surprised to see concern in his eyes, or if she should become accustomed to it. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

Inhaling deep through her nostrils, she nodded. "Yes, actually. I'm better than I'd thought I'd be with that sort of discovery, but there we are." Hermione glanced at the clock. "Oh, lunch is nearly over, we should put these back. I have to go see Professor McGonagall."

Draco nodded, standing from his chair. As he started to gather up his share of the books they'd poured over, he heard a statement from her that made him halt, mid-motion.

Arching a brow, he returned to his book-gathering, looking up at her after he'd grabbed the last one. She had a stack of her own and seemed uncertain of why he was looking at her like that as she rounded the table and moved past him to return her volumes to the bookcases.

"Say that again?"

Her shoulders slumped as she held the books out, in turn, for the shelves to take back. "I said you should go with me."

Rather than sorting his books, he just held out the armful and waited, the shelves were not as quick to take his stack, clearly not amused with his lazy gesture. "Please tell me you're not planning on telling her my secret."

Hermione frowned, shaking her head. She turned to face him, waiting with her arms folded across her chest for the shelves to finish taking back their books from him. "No. I already told you I wouldn't since you're so intent on not being a danger to anyone. I only meant because you're my test subject. I want to assure her that you're a fully-willing participant, and are aware of the potential dangers of experimental potions."

He emitted a wistful sigh, casting his gaze upward as the shelves reclaimed the last book. "Makes me sound so selfless when you remove the whole secret-werewolf aspect from the situation. Think she'll question why I'm so eager to help you?"

She snorted a giggle and gave him a sideways glance as they started out of the library—sidetracking to their table just long enough to grab their bags. "Of course she'd question a seemingly selfless decision, it's  _you_."

Draco had the grace to look affronted, his jaw gaping and the beginning of unattached syllables falling from his lips in an attempt to form words. Which lasted all of five seconds, before he nodded. "I suppose that's fair."

The pair continued in silence until they reached the winding lift up to the headmistress' office. As they stepped on, she noticed the construction efforts had done well with repairing the lift, though how the damage had managed to reach all the way here was beyond her.

Once inside, Hermione tried to find anything to think about  _other_ than being in an enclosed space with Draco Malfoy. She'd just learned that in all probability one of her ancestors had been a werewolf. She was about to present her project to Professor McGonagall, and despite Professor Slughorn's positive bent on the matter, she knew well the elder witch might have a very different view.

"So . . . ." His voice seemed impossibly loud in the quiet space of the lift. "What do we tell her my reason for helping you is, since me acting selflessly is so hard to believe?"

"Don't get snarky. You and I both know you don't have the best reputation for putting others first. And that's what we'll tell her, you're turning over a new leaf, but you know people aren't likely to believe it unless you actually  _do_  something to prove it."

Draco nodded, frowning thoughtfully.

Her previous thoughts, and the snippet of conversation, served to distract her adequately . . . until the lift jerked beneath their feet.

The sudden motion sent Hermione stumbling toward the wall. She winced, bracing herself for the impact when she couldn't regain her footing, but Draco caught her.

She couldn't believe her heart was hammering in her chest from such a quick, barely-ruffling moment. Fighting for a deep breath, she spoke as she opened her eyes. "Thank you."

His arms around her, he found himself staring down into her face. He knew it was all instincts and hormones that he was so acutely aware of the warmth of her against him. All instincts and hormones that the notice of the color flaring in her cheeks stirred something in him.

She could feel the whisper of his breath across her cheeks as she held his gaze. How the bloody hell did she only realize now that in her attempt to shield her fall, she'd raised her arms . . . that her hands were splayed against his chest due to that cautionary measure. She could detect the beat of his heart, warm and steady beneath her fingers.

And she was positive she felt that rhythm pick up its pace. She was too aware of the way he darted out the tip of his tongue to wet his lips in her periphery, too aware of the bobbing of his Adam's Apple as he forced a gulp down his throat.

"The . . . the lift is steady, again," she said, managing to eek out the words in a breathless whisper. "We should really . . . really disentangle ourselves before it stops."

Draco nodded. "Of course." His voice just as low, there was no mistaking the way he inhaled deep, just then, his eyes drifting closed.

"Are you sniffing me?" she asked, though she knew perfectly well the answer.

"I can't help it, I'm sorry." He relinquished his hold on her, though he was still painfully cognizant of her nearness . . . of the warmth of her body and the smell of her skin. "I think, in the future, when we're alone together, maybe we should keep a distance from one another."

Hermione gave a non-committal shrug as she tried to school her features, as she tried not to wonder what that might've just led to, if not for their location. "That's probably best."

"Exactly."

"And that's what we both want, right?" She didn't know why she was asking this, but she was suddenly very uncertain of her own feelings. She only knew there was part of her that was rabidly curious about what it would feel like to have stood on her toes just now, to have closed the distance between them and press her lips to his. "What's best?"

His gaze locking on hers, he nodded. Though he opened his mouth to echo his last answer, instead—staring at her like this, her cheeks still flushed, her chestnuts eyes just a bit hazy, the rise and fall of her breast as she breathed unsteadily in his periphery, knowing what this tinge in the scent winding off her meant—he found himself saying, "No. I don't believe I do want what's best."

The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes as he said that sent a sweet little spike of tension through Hermione. She wasn't certain what to say to that, precisely, her mind suddenly flashing with blush-inducing thoughts of his fingers sneaking beneath her clothes and his teeth raking against her throat.

Her chance to respond was stolen, then, by the door to the lift opening. She watched as Draco smoothed his hands over his school robes and stepped out. Once more, she attempted to purge her thoughts of anything not essential to the impending conversation, because she had no idea how she'd make it through this discussion when imaginings of  _what could be_  had her pulse racing and a delicious warmth threatening low in her body.

Bloody hell, she really wanted Draco Malfoy! And she didn't know if it was better or worse that he seemed to want her just as badly.


	4. An Awkward Realization

**Chapter Four**

An Awkward Realization

Hermione wasn't quite certain how she did it, exactly—what with the recollections of what had nearly happened between her and Draco in the lift just moments earlier playing in the back of her mind the entire time, and the awareness of how Professor McGonagall's gaze kept darting over to rest questioningly on Draco every few moments—but she managed to make it through the presentation of her secret project. With flying colors, if her own opinion on the matter counted for anything.

As she finished, she drew in a deep breath, wondering which of those almost-distractions had her feeling like she needed a moment to collect herself and calm her nerves.

She took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs that faced the headmaster's desk. "So, Professor? What, um, what do you think? Should I continue my research, or would you prefer I stop?"

The elder witch steepled her fingers before her mouth, her attention once more leaping from Hermione, to Draco, and back. Nodding, she said, "I think it's a very noble effort, Miss Granger, and should by all means be pursued. I concur with Professor Slughorn's assessment—if anyone seems they might be able to accomplish this, it's certainly you. What I'm not so clear on is the reasoning behind Mr. Malfoy's selfless streak in volunteering as your test subject."

Hermione and Draco exchanged a glance. He could tell more by the bitter twinge winding her scent than by the way she appeared as though she was barely holding back a wince that she was anxious about how to answer. They'd talked about just what to say, but he knew that being confronted with the moment, Granger—as accomplished of a fibber as she could be under duress—did not like having to lie to a woman she so admired.

_Time to step up, Malfoy_ , he thought to himself, imagining what Hermione's expression would be were she to say that to him.

Sitting up a bit straighter in his seat, Draco fussed with straightening his uniform robes as he cleared his throat. "That was actually my idea, Professor. I stumbled onto Granger's secret project the other night by accident, and when she explained what she was trying to accomplish, I did offer myself as her test subject. I know that doesn't sound like me—at  _all_ , really—but this school year has been a bit rough on me. My old friends want nothing to do with me. They're not really taking the changes to school policies very well, and they don't really seem to know what to make of someone who switched sides during the end of the War. But . . . no one else has exactly been welcoming, due to my history leading up to the War. Granger's the only one treating me the same as she did from the moment we met."

"Not true," Hermione said, the tiniest hint of a grin curving one corner of her mouth upward. "The moment we met, I wanted to hex you. Now, I only want to give you a smack every so often."

The scathing look the Malfoy Heir granted her, that seemed tinged with a hint of reluctant amusement, nearly brought a laugh out of Minerva McGonagall. All right, so perhaps his intentions weren't wholly selfless, and had a bit more to do with the young woman conducting this secret research. That sounded a little closer to correct.

"Anyway." Draco shook his head, shifting his attention back to the Headmistress before going on. "I want to . . . ." Frowning, he gave another shake of his head. "I need to prove that I'm worthy of at least a modicum of respect and understanding from my peers. I know the side effects of these experimental elixirs can be um, unfortunate, but with application of the proper remedies, they'll only be temporary. Seems a small price to pay to have people stop avoiding me like Dragon Pox, honestly."

Minerva's brows had raised slowly as he spoke. That _almost_  sounded sincere. But she'd learned long ago taking a Malfoy at their word could be trouble. Her suspicions, however, did not seem enough to deter her from agreeing—the potion Miss Granger was hoping to create could do so much good. She would simply keep an eye on their progress, and Miss Granger was a profoundly capable person, if Draco had any sort of  _intentions_  toward her, she trusted the girl to make up her own mind on whether or not that was something  _she_  wanted.

The elder witch held in a sigh at herself. Having a view on anyone as being the daughter she'd never had was probably going to be more trouble than it was worth.

"Very well. You each sound quite certain of yourselves. I will allow you both to continue in the capacity required to see this through."

Hermione let out a huge, relieved breath. Her shoulders slumped and a smile broke across her features. "Oh, thank you, Professor!"

As they stood up to leave, however, she heard the other woman say her name softly. Glancing toward Draco, she saw him continuing on toward the lift—she was aware he'd probably heard the Professor calling her, but had realized that to turn, as well, would give away his  _suspiciously_  sharp hearing.

Biting her lip, Hermione pivoted on her heel to face the headmistress. "Hmm?"

Flicking her gaze pointedly toward the young man waiting for her, Minerva said, " _Do_  proceed with caution."

Though the younger witch tried not to read too much into the look Professor McGonagall gave her, there was a hint in the woman's tone that had her cheeks warming. Dear Lord, did she think something was  _already_  happening between them?

Swallowing hard, Hermione forced a nod. "Yes, ma'am."

Minerva gave a nod of her own in reply and sat back, jutting her chin toward the lift.

When Hermione reached Draco and the lift opened, he muttered from between pursed lips, "You do know I heard that, don't you?"

Rolling her eyes, she waited until they stepped into the lift to reply. "Yes, I do." She looked about, making sure they stood a safe distance from one another. "Your point?"

Averting his gaze, he couldn't help but smirk. "Did you also know I could smell the change in your scent when she said what she said?"

This time, she could not help the wash of color flaring in her cheeks as she went wide eyed. "Oh, shut up, you!"

Biting his lip, he didn't bother holding back his snicker at her embarrassment. Well, at least they'd gotten her mind off the puzzle of her ancestry for the time being.

* * *

Over the course of the next near month, Hermione and Draco continued their research. Through lunch, after dinner, the pair could be found pouring over various texts, the quills in their hands scratching away furiously as they made notes of this or that important bit of information. Draco noticed, already, a slight change in attitude toward him from the bulk of the student body just from Hermione Granger giving him the time of day. He'd not expected that, but he supposed it was mildly pleasant to not feel hated.

Of course, the more time he spent with her, the further his old friends distanced themselves, but he was starting to feel as though that loss did not sting quite so much as he'd expected it would.

Granger had written her parents to see if they could get their hands on documentation regarding her family tree. She kept tight-lipped about her reasons, explaining it away as an assigned project—apparently that was a big thing with Muggle schools, so they bought this explanation, of course, and promised to find whatever information they could to assist her.

Apparently, telling Muggles that their daughter was hunting for signs of lycanthropy among her ancestors was  _not_  an option.

Somehow—by the very grace of the Powers that Be, it seemed—they managed to avoid doing anything that brought to mind the incident in the lift. At least, that was how it seemed to Hermione, neither of them mentioned it, again, and Draco seemed focused on their work. That was just as well. Maybe his ability to detect her scent had waned the further he got from his shifts, because he didn't seem to notice anymore when her mind drifted to . . . images it shouldn't. He didn't need to know she was visited near nightly by dreams like that first night after she'd learned his secret.

She'd simply . . . suffer in silence. It was just a stupid, passing physical attraction. She didn't even  _like_  him, so that she occasionally found herself wanting to tear his robes off shouldn't matter the least little bit.

The closer the next full moon drew, the more Hermione found she couldn't sleep. She was too anxious. The moment her head hit the pillow, she was ready to bounce back up and run down to the potions lab. Though she told herself it was due to her excitement over her project, she knew it just  _might_  be that she wanted to avoid any more steamy dreams of a naked, wolf-eyed Draco Malfoy.

For the most part, she won the battle with herself and managed to force sleep to overtake her, often to her deep regret the next morning when she awoke sweating and twisted up in her sheets. But now, just one night before the full moon—when she'd stay awake, anyway, to sneak Draco into the castle and treat whatever wounds he returned with—she lost the fight. In her nightclothes and slippers, for pity's sake, she climbed out of bed.

By wandlight, she found her way down from Gryffindor tower and into the Slytherin dungeons.

She gave herself a shake as she went around the potions room lighting the sconces. Now that she was down here, it was better to get some work done, not let reluctant, psychosomatic sleepiness creep in.

Gathering her ingredients and her notes from where she'd left them, she made her way to a work station. With any luck, this first try would be more hit than miss, and they wouldn't need some of the remedies they'd whipped up.

The witch became so engrossed in her work so fast, she didn't notice one of the ingredients jars was precariously tilted near the edge of the table. Not until she heard the brittle, metallic splintering of glass crashing beside her feet.

She barely jumped, though she did snap her head around to look toward the sound. "Oh, damn," she said, sighing.

Bending to start picking up the larger pieces, she realized she must be more tired than she thought. She reached, rather sloppily, into the mess, earning herself a nicked fingertip.

Hermione let out a hissing breath as she shook her injured hand. So much for doing things the simple, Muggle way. Standing, she withdrew her wand and let her magic handle the problem. Honestly, she did love her magic, but she didn't like using it carelessly for such menial tasks. It almost felt wrong, like an abuse of power.

It wasn't until she turned, directing the tiny heap of shattered glass and ground newt eyes in the direction of the rubbish bin, that she noticed Draco hovering in the doorway. She started, but kept her mind on her task, somehow.

"Goodness, you gave me a fright," she said with an airy laugh as she shook her head. "Sorry if the noise woke you."

He barely noticed what she was doing. Barely noticed anything but what had disturbed his sleep. He didn't spare a glance for the small, glittering pile she was directing across the room. He couldn't care that her attention was on it, rather than him, as she dropped the mess into the bin.

She had no idea what these last few weeks had been like for him, did she? She'd seemed so uncomfortable with what had nearly happened between them that he'd thought it best to ignore the incident, entirely. But Granger didn't make that an easy task, not with that damned smell winding off of her all the time. Sitting beside her in the library focusing on their work instead was  _torture_.

Now as he stood here, he couldn't rightly recall how he'd managed.

When she finally dropped her wand arm to her side and returned her gaze to him, she gave another start to find him crossing the floor toward her. He looked like he was . . . . Was that anger on his face?

"Draco? What is it? What's . . . ?" She paused, licking her lips nervously. "What's wrong?"

Stopping directly in front of her, he didn't answer. He flicked his gaze over her as his nostrils flared.

She jumped as he latched a hand around her wrist and raised her hand, her bloody fingertip gleaming in the light from the sconces. Swallowing hard, she realized it wasn't the sound that had woken him at all.

But if the scent of her blood had been enough to wake him from across the Slytherin dorms . . . . Hermione forced a gulp down her throat as she searched his face, his gaze was still on her cut.

That meant his sense of smell hadn't waned at all, didn't it? All this time, he'd known that when she was around him, she couldn't help but feel—

She gasped as he brought her bleeding finger to his mouth and lapped at the crimson droplets. She watched as his eyelids drifted closed, and his shoulders moved in a heavy sigh, as though he found the taste delectable.

Then he drew her finger between his lips, suckling at the tiny gash, the working of his mouth gentle, but insistent. Though she was trying to keep her focus—this was ridiculous, there was a werewolf drinking her blood, she should be terrified, not . . . not  _aroused_. Oh, she was shameful!

But she couldn't seem to help herself. Her own eyes closed at the sweet pressure of his tongue sweeping over her skin, her head lolling back.

He was lost in it—the taste of her blood, this scent of her winding around him.

The words tumbled from her lips, breathy and thoughtless, "Oh,  _God_ , Draco . . . ."

When this caused him to stop, to pull her hand from his mouth and stare at her, she snapped out of it. Opening her eyes and lifting her head, she met his gaze.

She wanted to ask why he stopped, but the intense look on his face caused the words to die on her lips.

Her hand still clasped in his, he pulled her closer. His eyes locked on hers, he spoke so that his breath brushed her skin. "I want to hear you say that again," he murmured.

A delicious little shiver wracked her, and she did her best to ignore how it raised goosebumps along her arms. "You . . . you want—"

He cut her off as he corrected himself, speaking in that same breathless whisper, "I want to  _make_  you say that again."


	5. A Dangerous Night

**Chapter Five**

A Dangerous Night

She felt like he was stealing her very breath as he leaned closer, still . . . as his eyelids drifted downward and his lips brushed over hers. Swallowing hard, she let her own eyes close as she pressed against him, meeting his kiss.

There was something strangely primal in tasting her blood on his tongue. Snapping back from him, she stared into his startled face for a few strained, silent heartbeats.

His gaze, perhaps predictably, dropped down to trace over her mouth as she asked in a breathless whisper, "Draco? what're we doing?"

He returned his attention to her eyes as he shook his head. Seeming unable to work up a reply, he slipped his arms around her. Sinking his fingers into her hair, he pulled back her head. Though she uttered a shocked whimper in response, he waited for her to protest. Yet, she only stared up at him, expectant.

There was that delicious scent winding off her and the way those big, brown eyes of hers bore into his . . . .

"God, Granger," he said in a barely audible whisper before dropping his mouth down to the side of her throat.

She shuddered at the feel of his lips and teeth dragging along her skin. He was right, words like those, spoken exactly that way,  _did_  bear repeating.

Her body seemed to have a mind of its own, her hands slipping up to grip the front of his nightshirt like she trying to tear through the material with her nails, alone. When he made a little rumbling sound in the back of his throat at the press of her nails against his chest, she dragged her fingers down along his sides and then circled his waist.

She pulled on him, dragging his body tight against hers. Again, he made that wonderful sound as he raked his teeth upward, along the pulse in her throat. What was wrong with her? She couldn't seem to control herself.

He caught her earlobe between his lips, nibbling playfully at the sensitive skin. One hand slipped from her hair to drift lower, down over her shoulder, along the small of her back. Cupping her arse with splayed fingers, he tried to press her more closely to him, still.

God, she thought with a giddy, breathless laugh, if they got any closer, they'd be—

"No, no . . . ." She shook her head, wincing. "Please stop."

Though she heard a definite growl from him then, it was more a sound of confusion than anger. Pulling away enough to meet her gaze, he frowned.

"I thought you . . . ." Draco shook his head, seeming unsure of his own voice. "I thought you wanted this."

At his tone, she felt tears clog her throat. Well, that was stupid, wasn't it? This was only a physical thing, why on earth should her response to denying him be emotional?

"I—" She cut herself off, having to touch her fingers to the tip of her stinging nose for a moment to keep her own voice steady. "I don't 'not' want it, but . . . this isn't  _us_. If I'm going to be with someone, I want it to be because it's what _I_  want and what  _you_ want, not because we can't stop ourselves from acting like a couple of wolves!"

To her dismay, he sounded hurt, speaking as he took a backward step. "But we are wolves."

Refusing to let her ability to reason be sidetracked by emotion, Hermione furrowed her brow, hating that she wanted to grab him and pull him back to her as he retreated. "What?"

He glanced around the potions lab, scowling as he seemed in search of precisely how to phrase what he wanted to say. Dear Lord, it was hard to collect his thoughts, not simply in the wake of what had just happened—or  _almost_  happened—but that combined with the full moon's arrival tomorrow evening made thinking about anything human a struggle.

"I've accepted that this is part of me, Granger." He shook his head once more, speaking through clenched teeth. "I have to, there's no cure for this. My 'wolf' is part of who, and what, I am, now. Just like yours is part of you, difference is yours has always been part of you."

She shrank back from him, stopped from backpedaling, herself, by the workstation table behind her. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you get it?" With a weighted sigh, he tried to rein in his sudden agitation with her, but she was being deliberately thick just now, and it wasn't helping his state. "It's not just me responding to you . . . you've been responding to me, too. Why would that happen unless it's the same? Unless both of us are at the mercy of that wolf part of ourselves?"

"Because I'm not like you!" The moment the words left her lips, she clamped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. How? How could she, of all people, say something like that? How could see even think it?

Swallowing hard, he nodded. "I see. That's how it is, then? I'm some _thing_  you wouldn't want to be like?"

Heaven's sake, this was escalating quickly! Letting her hands slip down, she shook her head. "No, Draco. I really didn't mean it like—"

"Is it because of Greyback? Because you hate him and he's the one who bit me?" He could feel the words coming, vicious, barbed . . . . and he couldn't be sure if he even  _wanted_  to say them or not as he said, "Did you see your dear friend Remus Lupin as a thing, too?"

Neither of them seemed prepared for the impact as Hermione's palm connected  _hard_  with Draco's cheek. His head tilted to one side with the force of it, and her skin stung and throbbed instantly.

Blinking back tears, she looked from her aching hand to his face. He wouldn't meet her eyes, his attention on the floor as he blinked, as well, several times in rapid succession.

For the second time that night, she asked, her voice barely a whisper against the suddenly too-quiet air, "Draco, what're we doing?"

He forced a sniffle as he finally dragged his gaze up to capture hers. Confusion was written across his features, as she was sure must be across hers, too.

"I've no idea, Granger."

His cheek was _so_  red! Gasping, she couldn't seem to stop herself as closed the distance between them to throw her arms around his neck and hug him tight. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it."

Returning her embrace, he sighed. She was being too gracious, they  _both_  knew he shouldn't have brought up Lupin. "I  _deserved_  it. I . . . I don't understand what the hell just happened."

"I don't, either, I—wait." She pulled back enough to look into his face. "Your eyes. I can't believe I didn't think of it when it happened, but when we were, well, you know, they looked like wolf's eyes." Like she'd dreamed about, literally. Shaking her head, she went on. "I think you were right. Well, no. I was right. Suppose technically, we both were."

Aware they were continuing this conversation holding one another—like an actual couple, or something—he furrowed his brow in question. "What?"

"Our wolves . . . it was a bit much for me to hear at first, because I've never had to think about it before. I mean, what you said makes so much sense given certain aspects of my personality, but it's who I've always been, so I never had _reason_  to question where it came from. But they  _are_  part of who we are. And if it's our wolves driving us to be together, maybe that part of ourselves got angry we didn't, um,  _continue_ , you know?"

"So, we turned that anger on each other is what you're saying?"

"Given how fast we devolved from being all over each other to being in each other's faces? I'd have to say so." She shrugged, her mouth running off on its own. "I mean, if I hadn't stopped us, right this very minute we'd probably be shagging right on the . . . ." Her voice trailed off as she noticed his brows climbing his forehead.

A smirk curved his lips slowly. "Would we, now?"

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. Why were they still in each other's arms, as though it was the most natural thing in the world? "As I said, it's not that I don't want to, it's just . . . wolf or no wolf,  _I_  don't want to rush into anything I'm not ready for. And, sorry to disappoint, but rabid shagging on a potions workstation table, though probably very fun, isn't how I want my first time with someone to be."

He tried to keep his mirthful expression from widening as he flicked a brow upward. "First time? Is that to say that you're already imagining we'd do it a second and third time? Maybe a forth?"

A surprised giggle bubbling out of her, she dropped her arms from him and tried to pull away—though it was hardly a serious effort. "That's not what I said, Malfoy."

Snickering, he refused to relinquish his hold on her. "C'mon Granger," he said, dropping his forehead to touch hers as he inhaled deep. "Just tell me what it is you do want."

"Okay, okay." She nodded, her eyes drifting closed as she breathed in, as well. Odd, she felt like she was trying to catch his scent. "You know, I was so convinced this entire last month that I don't even  _like_  you."

"Ouch," he said with a laugh, "but understandable, I suppose."

She continued, as though he'd not interrupted, no matter how humorously. "I think . . . I  _do_ want this. It seems a bit mad, actually, that I'm even considering anything like this with you. But . . . I think I want to avoid it so close to the full moon. It's clear you're not in full control of your wolf, and though I—apparently—have a teeny, tiny wolf inside, of my own, that part of me seems to respond to yours. Like we're playing off each other, or something. After seeing what happened after just a bit of snogging and touching, I'm afraid to see what we could get up to with the moon pulling at us, too."

"That sounds reasonable," Draco said in a breathy tone. "So, then . . . slow would be okay?"

Hermione nodded, smiling. "Slow would definitely be okay."

She yelped as he spun her in his arms and started walking her toward the table. "What . . . ? What're you doing?"

Sweeping her hair away from her neck, he brought his mouth to her ear, speaking with a hint of amusement edging his tone. "Going slow,  _but_  . . . I said I wanted to make you say, 'Oh, God, Draco,' again, didn't I? Seems I still have some work to do."

Before she knew it, she stood with her palms braced on the tabletop. His teeth raked and nipped at the side of her throat, and rather than working up a single word of argument, she let her head fall back against his shoulder as she let out an airy little sound of satisfaction.

He circled her with his arms, cupping her breasts through her nightshirt. The way she shivered as he teased her nipples into tight little points through the fabric set off a rumbling noise in the back of his throat.

She bit her lip to hold in another sound as he drew one hand down, along her side, like she'd done to him just minutes earlier. Now, she found she was leaning into his touch as his fingers drifted along her hip and lower. As though she couldn't stop herself, she dropped her head and opened her eyes, watching as he slid his hand between her thighs.

"You'll have to tell me if I'm doing something wrong," he said, his voice barely a thread of sound in her ear as he started working his fingers against her.

Nodding, she slipped her hand over his, guiding his motions. "Hasn't happened, yet, but I'll let you know."

He followed the direction of her gaze without realizing, looking over her shoulder. Down, along her body, watching their combined movements.

Uttering a strained, pleading whimper, she started rocking against his fingers. She trembled in his arms, giving herself over to instinct as she felt her muscles trying to tense. She pressed his hand to her harder, trying to feel his touch more through the fabric of her clothing.

"Just a little faster, please," she said in a shaky whisper.

Nodding, he quickened his pace as her hand fell away to grip the edge of table. He used the arm around her to pull her tight against him, helping her body go taut.

She had to force herself not to cry out as she came, instead letting out that same breath in a simple, tumbling whisper of sound. "Oh, _God_ , Draco!"

He snickered, still slightly in awe of watching his hand working between her thighs as she gasped and shivered against him. "That's more like it."

As it ebbed, she nearly collapsed forward against the workstation. Clamping her hand over his once more, she guided him into slower strokes, easing her body down from the orgasm gradually. The little aftershocks were wonderful, but they made her want to rock against him, and she knew  _that_ would lead to trouble.

When she finally stopped him, entirely, he simply stood there, holding her as she caught her breath.

"So," he said, his tone oddly conversational as he listened to her slowly steadying inhalations. "If you don't want to do it so close to the full moon, does that mean we can shag after it's passed?"

Hermione wasn't quite sure how she did it just then, but she managed to turn in his arms. Clasping her hands behind his neck, she kissed him before shaking her head at him. "Oh, shut up, Draco."

He bit back a laugh as he lowered his head for another kiss.


	6. A Memorable Morning

**Chapter Six**

A Memorable Morning

Hermione couldn't sleep that night. She couldn't focus on her lessons that following day. She was painfully—well, no, not  _painfully_ , that wasn't exactly the correct descriptive—aware of the weight of Draco's stare on her in every class they shared.

Each time her gaze caught his as they passed one another in the corridor that day, she could feel warmth rush into her cheeks and hear nothing but her own heartbeat in her ears. She nearly stumbled over her own two feet on several occasions because she'd been so very distracted by a sudden flood of mental images. Images of Draco pulling her into some darkened corner . . . . Of his hands slipping into her robes and his mouth moving over her skin.

Images of her legs wrapped around him as he rocked his pelvis in grinding motions against her.

More than once, she'd had to escape to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. And then spend another few moments simply to get her breathing and her pulse under control.

There was a strange comfort in the hazy sheen that filled his grey eyes every time their gazes met. It let her know she wasn't the only one having such a difficult time in the wake of what they'd gotten up to last night. Though, it begged the question—at least in her mind.

Was she having this reaction because they'd done too much last night, or because they'd not done  _enough_?

She knew it was only going to be trouble when they did come face-to-face after the full moon tonight, but she couldn't help avoiding him. She was too nervous about what could happen if they got too near one another, what with the things already playing in her mind just from looking at each other.

Bad enough, she thought, that she'd had to disappear back to her dorm after classes that day to change her knickers—how embarrassing that they were soaked just from her own imagination! Just as with that haze in his eyes, though, she found herself soothed that she noted a few times Draco'd had to carry his school bag in front of him, the placement rather conspicuous given what Hermione, herself, was going through.

She had no idea how she managed to get sleep that night, but after last night and knowing she had to be up before dawn to meet Draco in the potions lab, she pretty much forced herself to catch a few hours. Her first attempt at a cure-all potion wasn't quite ready, yet, so she needed to prepare alternative remedies. By the time the witch stood at the workstation table, mixing up her latest healing concoction—luckily, she had thus far stumbled across a faster-acting salve than what was already in use in the magical medical community—she thought every bit of her skin had become so sensitive that she could feel the weight of the very air against her.

Somehow, she allowed herself to get caught up enough in the work before her that before she realized it, some nagging internal voice told her the moon was probably setting by now. Which meant . . . .

Swallowing hard, she pivoted on her heel to face the doorway of the potions lab. There stood Draco, worn and battered as last time. His shoulders moved in an almost exaggerated way with the deep, ragged gulps of air he was drawing in. Those pale cheeks of his were flushed, and his thin but perfect lips were parted with his breathing.

And God help her, his eyes were still that mesmerizing golden-amber hue from his transformation.

Holding her gaze, he stalked across the floor on measured footfalls. As he closed the distance between them, he was already tugging at his robes. By the time he reached her, they hung open around him, the fabric bunched at his elbows and slung low against the small of his back, baring the smattering of injuries across his shoulders, chest and torso.

He tore his attention from her as he turned, putting his back to her. Just like the first time they'd done this . . . back first, she realized. When he turned around so she could apply the salve to his chest and face,  _that_  was when she'd be in trouble.

Taking a deep breath, she was aware of her fingers trembling as she smoothed the salve across his broken skin. She was also aware of a desire to lean close . . . to brush her lips across the lines of his shoulder blades.

Finishing with his back, she managed in a breathless whisper, "You can turn around now."

Draco did as instructed, and the air caught in her throat as his gaze landed on hers. For a moment, it seemed neither of them was able to move. Then, his eyes locked on hers still, he lowered before her. She could only watch, arguing the furthest thing from her mind as he reached beneath her nightdress to slide her knickers down her legs and assisted her to step out of them.

The words 'no' and 'stop' didn't seem anywhere in her vocabulary as he stood once more, clamping his hands over her hips and lifting her to sit back on the workstation table. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, she lifted her knees, hooking her legs around his hips as she administered the salve to the wounds along his leanly-muscled abdomen.

Though she watched the movement of her own fingers across his skin as she trailed up to his chest to treat the cuts and scrapes there, she was acutely aware of him slipping his hand into his already-parted robes to pull himself free. As she reached his neck and face, he positioned himself with one hand, slipping the other around her to cup her arse.

He scooted her forward to meet his entry and they both froze, trembling at that first thrust. As he stared down into her face, he tipped his head one side, his expression questioning. Forcing a gulp down her throat, she nodded while she lifted her hands, insistent on taking care of the remainder of his wounds, even as he withdrew and pushed forward once more.

Hermione bit her lip, holding in a moan as he repeated the movement again and again. How she still managed to look him in the eyes as he built up a rhythm that had her locking her ankles behind his back and a shiver wracking her muscles at the sensation every time he pulled back, she had  _no_ idea.

Finishing with his wounds, she all but dropped the container of salve aside to brace her palms on the table. Funny, she'd always thought she'd be one to cling, instead, she used the stability to lift herself against his thrusts. She couldn't help a breathless laugh at the growl that escaped him as he found her working to meet his motions.

Another hungry, purely animal sound rumbled out of him as he circled her with his other arm. His fingers gripping hard into her skin through her nightdress, he pulled her against him harder, still.

She couldn't help tearing her gaze from his, then, as her head fell back and her body started tensing around him. "Oh, dear  _God_ ," she breathed out in a shaky whisper.

He uttered an airy, quiet chuckle, aware she had him right on the edge, as well. Draco dropped his head down against her shoulder, his teeth grazing her skin as she pushed against him and stilled. As the feel of her body clenching around him while she came forced that last, jarring motion from him. He froze, his limbs trembling as he held them both there until he was spent.

Until their orgasms began to ebb and they could move against each other, once more, helping to ease one another down.

They shivered against each other as they both finally slowed to a halt. Catching her breath in ragged gulps, and in no hurry to remind him that he was still, well, still _in_  there, Hermione dropped her head down, catching his gaze once more as he lifted his own from her shoulder.

Exhaling sharply, he shook his head. "Were we just incredibly stupid?"

Hermione shook her head. "After what we got up to last night, I thought it might be smart to take a contraceptive potion. And a strong one, too."

Those eyes—the golden-amber now fading so his natural grey shade tempered that hypnotic color a bit—narrowed. "How strong?"

Biting back a grin, she shrugged. "We'd be good to go for about a week?"

"Merlin's beard, you really  _are_ brilliant!"

Smirking, she nodded. "I know. But uh, it's . . . not supposed to be this  _perfect_  the first time with a new someone, is it?"

"Not in my experience."

"So, um . . . you think it's some . . . well . . . ?"

"Some natural wolf-thing?"

She shrugged, but nodded, offering a small, awkward grin.

"Probably." He couldn't help but snicker. "Might've even made it more . . . potent by letting it build up like that overnight."

"Then maybe we should do  _that_  more often."

His brows shot upward in surprise. "Think much more holding back like that might just be the death of us."

"So it wasn't my imagination? You really were having a, um, hard time today, too?"

Again, he snickered, this time at her deliberate wording. "Definitely."

"It's funny, it actually crossed my mind during classes today to sit beside you, and, well, maybe to slip my hand in your robes and help you out with that."

Draco feigned a gasp. "Why, Hermione Granger, you dirty trollop!" Biting into his bottom lip, he tipped his head back as he held her gaze. "So why didn't you?""

"I was afraid we might get caught."

"Makes sense. Not sure that's funny, though."

She laughed. "Well, it occurred to me during Advanced  _Wandwork_."

His face fell. "I may never hear the phrase 'it's all in the wrist' the same way again."

Hermione groaned, dropping her head against his chest as he gave up trying to hold that deadpan expression and let out a laugh.


	7. An Unwelcome Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My regular readers, please be advised. The Fenrir Greyback in *this* story is not the same take on the character you've come to know in my other fics. He *is* the bad guy, here. :/

**Chapter Seven**

An Unwelcome Revelation

The next few days following that full moon proved rather exhausting for Hermione . . . delightful, but exhausting. Draco didn't quite seem to grasp that while she craved his touch as much as he craved hers, she didn't have enough werewolf blood in her veins to keep up with the stamina and fast-recovery of a  _true_  werewolf. He seemed intent on taking advantage of the contraceptive potion's duration and potency . . . after breakfast before first class, during lunch . . . . The entire span of time between last class and dinner.

By the time she crawled into her bed at night, she thought she would sleep like the dead until morning. But then, sometime during the night she'd feel herself pulled awake, some instinct telling her where to go as that sweet ache pulsed between her thighs, assuring her that by the time she found him, there would be no room for thinking. The way his nostrils would flare as he pulled her to him and slipped her clothes off left no room for doubt that he knew from her scent that she was ready for him.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, Hermione had dozed off in class. She'd been struggling to keep her eyes open, but between still getting her assignments completed and the carnal after . . . before . . .  _during_ school activities she was partaking in with Draco, she lost the battle with herself.

She couldn't quite recall what she'd dreamed when she awoke as class ended, the sounds of books slamming shut and footfalls echoing through the room dragging her out of sleep. Blinking hard, she gave herself a shake, still a bit disoriented even as she looked around.

There'd been a sort of hazy, sparsely illuminated darkness . . . . A howl in the distance. Had it been Draco? She couldn't recall just now if the voice she'd heard in her sleep matched the howl she'd heard from him that first full moon after the start of term.

Though nothing more than that seemed to have happened, the foggy imagining made her wonder . . . .

Turning in her seat as she sluggishly gathered her things, she already knew Draco would be at the door waiting for her. After all, this was the last class today.

As she met his gaze, she offered a pensive frown. His brow furrowing at her look, he crossed the room to stand before her.

"I saw you nod off, you okay?"

With a shrug, she rose from her seat and started from the room. Aware, already, that her non-committal answer probably worried him, she waited until they were out in the corridor and heading toward the unused classroom they were currently borrowing—though technically, the official reason was for Hermione to have extra space during the day to work on her personal project, she and Draco really hadn't gotten up to using it for its  _official_  purpose the past week.

"There's something that's been bothering me, Malfoy." She shook her head, frowning once more as she unlocked the door and nodded for him to step in ahead of her. "About what's been happening between us."

He stopped in the midst of setting down his bag. Looking over his shoulder at her, worrying creased his features. "Is . . . is it me? Have I done something wrong?"

"What?" Her brows pinched together as she closed the door behind them. "No, no, nothing like that."

Mirroring her expression, he dropped his bag and stepped up to her. "Then is it what we've been doing? It's too much for you, isn't it? You want to stop.  _I've_  been too much for you, that's why you just passed out in the middle of class?"

"No." Just as fast, she shook her head. She'd never thought she'd hear Draco Malfoy fret like this before, but then she supposed they were sort of in an unofficial relationship. If there was anytime she would see sides of him she hadn't before, it made sense that would be now. "I mean, yes, it  _is_  why I'm tired, but it's not like I'm complaining, either. But no, it's neither of those things. It's about when it happens in the middle of the night. How is it that I always know how to find you?"

Draco's lips tugged together in a grim line as he thought on that. They'd been so caught up in each other that the oddity of that hadn't even occurred to him. If it was only him being lured to her location, that would make sense since he could follow her scent, but that didn't account for her finding him.

"I don't know. Maybe it's just the wolf in you subconsciously directing your actions?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded. "You know what? That's a reasonable explanation. It's not like it would be the first time that part of me was in control of my decisions."

He slipped his hand around hers, pulling her bookbag from her shoulder and easing it to the floor. "Come here," he said, guiding her across the room.

When he carefully lowered to the floor and guided her to sit beside him, she only arched a brow. "This is new."

Snickering, he shook his head. Resting his back against the wall, he patted his leg. "You're going to take a nap."

"Am I, now?" she asked, her brows shooting upward. Though, she couldn't deny that even as she asked, she was fighting a yawn. A nap did sound incredibly wonderful right now.

He smirked, leaning close to nip at the tip of her nose. "Yes." Again, he patted his lap. " _Now_ , Granger."

"Oh," she said in a cooing tone as she shivered a little. Settling on her side, she pillowed her head on his thigh, as instructed. "Commanding looks good on you."

Letting his own eyes close only after he watched hers drift shut, he laughed. "I'll try to remember that."

* * *

"Your message seemed rather urgent, Professor." Hermione took a seat before the headmistress' desk. She clasped her hands nervously in her lap—was she about to received a reprimand for nodding off in class yesterday?

Not that she could very well see that as being urgent, but . . . .

Minerva McGonagall's expression was grave as she looked up from some documents on her desk. "Because it is, Miss Granger." Her shoulders sloping, she breathed out a sigh. "What I'm about to tell you is of the utmost secrecy, as this news could cause a panic. You, however, are considered on the 'need to know' list, as it were, in regard to this matter."

Swallowing hard—she did not like the sound of this at all—Hermione nodded. "G' on."

"Not many know this—I did not know this until just now, in fact—but after the War, when Fenrir Greyback was taken into custody, he was not brought to Azkaban."

Hermione felt her eyes widen as though the reaction was foreign to her.

"It's well established that he's not . . . not quite like others of his kind. Apparently a decision was made to hold him at the Ministry and study him."

Now, Hermione felt a strange mash of fear and anger. "What? Like an animal in some barbaric research facility?"

Minerva's brows pinched together. "So it would seem. I believe they wanted to know just why he's so different from other werewolves."

"You mean they want to know why his bite passes the curse along even when he's not shifted?"

The elder witch nodded. "I would have to assume that's the case. Regardless of their reasons, Greyback was being transported from the Ministry's custody to Azkaban yesterday morning and . . . escaped."

At the look of alarm on the young woman's face, Minerva held up a hand. "All evidence seems to indicate that he is attempting to flee Britain. However, given your report on your encounter with him during the War, I must advise you to be on your guard when you are outside of the castle walls. Do not off school grounds without alerting me, first, and try not to go anywhere unescorted, or unarmed, when you do."

"That's just . . . ." Hermione forced a gulp down her throat, inhaling sharply through her nostrils as she nodded. "Just a precaution, isn't it? You said all—all evidence indicates that he's trying to flee Britain, not, um, not stick around."

Sympathy softening the harsh look of worry in her expression, Minerva gave a nod of her own. "Yes, just a precaution. Similarly, the Ministry will be sending Aurors to search the school and the surrounding areas as soon as possible, as a precaution."

At the moment, Hermione wished Draco's condition—and the source of it—were public knowledge. Then, he'd be sitting right beside her, hearing this information as well. She imagined his hand covering hers on the armrest in a gesture of reassurance and comfort.

"Please be careful, Miss Granger. As much as I hope the Ministry is correct, we both well know its  _hardly_ an infallible institution."

* * *

"I think I'm going to be sick," Draco said, his features pinching in a look that was either fear or disgust, maybe both. Probably both, Hermione couldn't quite be sure.

"Professor McGonagall said I had to be made aware, because the threats he issued against me during the War might mean he's coming after me. More likely, however, is that it will only be an issue if we somehow cross paths, which doesn't seem probable, given how distant we are from the Ministry  _and_  far easier routes out of Wizarding Britain."

He was staring off, now, his face a bit piqued.

"We can't let anyone know he's at large. It'll create a panic."

"I understand." Draco shook his head. "I just can't believe they kept him like that."

"My understanding of it is that they want to understand how he's able to transmit the curse when it's not the full moon. They want to know how and why he's different from other werewolves." She shrugged. "I think, really, they want to ensure that he's the exception, not the rule, and that other werewolves  _don't_  have the same ability."

"What if that's not why, at all?"

His voice had tumbled out so small she barely heard him. Snapping her gaze up to lock on his face, she asked, "What?"

"It's not unheard of, right? For a government to take preemptive measures?"

Hermione felt her stomach ice over at the implication, though she didn't want to comprehend his meaning. "Draco, I don't—"

"What if it wasn't about ensuring other werewolves can't do what he does, but only to find out why so  _they_  can use it? The Ministry was nearly toppled by Voldemort because they weren't prepared for him. Look at how close he came to winning?" He shook his head. "What if they are bracing for whatever threat might come next?"

A breath rattled out of her. "You think the new Ministry could want to build its own werewolf army?"

Shaking his head, Draco spoke in an utterly toneless voice. "I think I'm not sure I trust anyone not to do the worst thing they could _possibly_  do, anymore."

* * *

Hermione awoke groggy, pulling herself to sit up slow and blinking around the darkness of her dorm room. That little growling voice inside her was telling her to get out of bed and go somewhere.

Though she did as her wolf bid her, she took an extra measure tonight. She paused long enough to grab her wand before she slipped out the door.

Her steps seemed guided without any input from her, directly, only that instinct driving her movements. As with the other nights, it seemed every bit of her was readying itself. Already, she could feel the warmth of a flush chasing along her body, the rapid beat of her pulse beneath skin . . . . That sweet, throbbing ache that grew stronger with every step.

Almost before she realized it, she found herself standing on the shore of the Black Lake. Yet, Draco was nowhere to be seen.

Gripping her wand tight, she backpedaled, aware something was very wrong.

"Been waiting for you."

His voice was right behind her. She heard it only a heartbeat before she felt the warmth of his body against her back.

Hermione wanted to whip around and strike him with a hex he'd never forget. But her body moved of its own accord, pivoting slowly on her heel to face him.

Sooner than she could respond, he'd plucked her wand from her fingers, as though she'd not been holding it in a death grip. She was nearly surprised when he didn't snap it in two, instead simply tossing it aside—he was disarming her but not leaving her wholly defenseless. She had no idea what to make of that.

Fenrir Greyback's nostrils flared as he reached out, his fingers smoothing over her wild hair. "Did you miss me?"

"N—no." She was angry with herself, not just because she was utterly useless standing before him, but because her body, and her wolf, had responded to his presence as if she were going to meet Draco.

As though he read her misgivings, somehow, he smirked. "Oh, yes, I  _know_. You've got my pup's scent all over you." His gaze swept along her as he said, "I can tell from your scent that he's been  _quite_  the busy little boy. That's all right, though . . . ."

Hermione couldn't account for how she drifted forward, her body moving closer to his as he leaned down, as he swept his arm around her and pulled her up against him.

Fenrir smirked, unable to help a laugh when she jumped at the feel of his teeth raking her throat. "He's just been preparing you for me."

"No." She couldn't believe this was happening! Even as she tried to argue, her hands were linking behind his neck and her legs parted far too easily for him as he moved his thigh to press between them. "He hates you."

"Oh, he's not aware he's doing it, but he is, all the same." His hands clamping over her hips, he rocked her hard, grinding her pelvis against the hard muscle of his thigh. "You and him? You're both  _mine_."

She despised the way she trembled in his embrace, the feel of his leg pressing to her so tight sending delicious little sparks through her. "Stop, please."

Fenrir lifted his head, those amber eyes catching her gaze. "Oh? Is that really what you want?"

God, she couldn't answer! Why couldn't she answer? Her body was screaming at her not to stop him, her wolf was pushing her, practically growling beneath her skin to let him do whatever he wanted. But her mind was firm about not wanting this. Not wanting  _him_ , no matter how bad the rest of her seemed to be longing for it.

"Oh," he said, snickering as he rocked her hard against him one more time, working a pleading whimper out of her. "You think your reaction to him is so unique? No. You may not understand this, but something passed between you and me that day in Malfoy Manor. That bit of werewolf in your blood? It called out to me that day, and I  _answered._  Because of me, you'll get wet for  _any_  werewolf who makes you think of me."

The gasp that tore out of her was barely audible as she gaped up at him.

"Don't you get it yet?  _I_ turned him, _I_  let him escape from me . . . . _I_  made sure he was strong enough to come back here. To find you . . . yes, even to fuck you. All so you'd be prepared for becoming mine."

She managed to force out a protest. "No!"

_"You_  are the reason I bit him, Hermione Granger." He pressed his face to the side of her throat, inhaling deep. "And the next time you see me? You're not going to be able to stop yourself from giving in to how much you want me."

* * *

Hermione bolted upright in bed, clutching her covers to her chest. Her breath thundering out of her in ragged little spurts, she looked about her dorm room. All was normal, calm . . . .

Yet . . . .

Her feet were freezing beneath the blankets. Her wand was gripped in her fingers as they clung to the fabric. She trembled with the realization that that hadn't been a dream, knowing that if she whipped back her covers, the soles of her feet would be a mess from having stood barefoot on the shore of the Black Lake.

She didn't need to look at herself, or move, to know that her knickers were—shamefully—soaked from that encounter with Fenrir Greyback. Her body had betrayed her. Worse was the awful feeling that somehow, without even being a party to it, she'd betrayed Draco. Not just with being unable to make her body fight off Greyback's advances, but before  _any_ of this had even begun.

She could still hear his voice, as though he was in the bed with her, whispering the words in her ear.

_"You are the reason I bit him, Hermione Granger. And the next time you see me? You're not going to be able to stop yourself from giving in to how much you want me."_


	8. A Fearful Heart

**Chapter Eight**

A Fearful Heart

Draco thought it a little odd that Hermione hadn't found him again last night, but then she'd been so worn out from the past week, he thought perhaps she'd finally managed to sleep through the night. After that, however, she wasn't at breakfast.

By the time first class started, she seemed nowhere to be found.

Feigning a splitting headache, he excused himself from Advanced Potions and hurried out into the corridor. His first stop was to the school hospital, but Madame Pomfrey hadn't had anyone in that morning, or during the night, at all.

The information Hermione'd received yesterday whispered back through his mind, lodging his heart in his throat suddenly. Greyback was on the loose somewhere and now Hermione was conspicuously absent? That did not bode well.

He could always check her dorm, but it wasn't as though slipping into Gryffindor Tower  _without_  a Gryffindor on-hand was a simple feat . . . .

Just as suddenly as that idea deflated, another struck. One place where no one but him knew she had been frequenting as of late.

Though he reserved any sense of relief for  _actually_  seeing if she was there, he let out a quiet breath and started for their borrowed classroom. She was  _so_  going to pay for worrying him if she was. If she wasn't, he was about to have a very urgent impromptu meeting with Professor McGonagall.

He looked about the corridor as he approached the door. They had permission, and thus every right to be in this room, but still . . . . The notion that he and Hermione had been sneaking around so very much the last few days made him feel like he should expect undue scrutiny from pretty much anyone who might happen across his path.

Gripping the doorknob, he turned and found it unlocked. She was the one with the key, that had to mean she was in there. His shoulders drooped as a tension drained out of him and he pushed open the door.

"Dammit, Granger," he said as he stepped inside, shaking his head as he shut the door behind him. "You just about scared the . . . ." His voice trailed off as he faced into the room.

She looked impossibly small curled up like that. Facing a far corner, she sat with her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Even from across the room, he could see that she was shaking.

"Granger?!" Dropping his bag, he dashed across the floor and dropped to his knees beside her. "What happened?"

Sniffling, she shifted away from him a little. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and let him hold her, but everything was  _so_  bad . . . and when he heard what Greyback had told her? He'd want nothing more to do with her, she could imagine it already.

His brows pinched together at her movement, he didn't need to feel the sorrow and anger ebbing off of her, didn't need the sour tinge of those emotions winding her scent to tell him something was deeply wrong.

Gritting his teeth, he put a bit of a growl into his voice as he said, "Tell me what happened."

Hermione swallowed hard, closing her eyes. The action forced the tears that had been trapped there to roll down her cheeks as she shook her head. "I went to meet you last night. At least . . . I thought I was. But it was  _him_  . . . ."

A true, full growl rumbled out of Draco then. He expected her to start at the sound, but only flicked her gaze in his direction before returning her attention to the wall. Merlin, she wouldn't even look at him!

"Dear  _God_ , Hermione. What did he do to you?"

She offered a shaky, half-hearted shrug. "He . . . he told me things and he . . . and he _touched_  me. I didn't want him to. I'm sorry, I'm _so_  sorry, I really didn't want him to!"

Unable to take her having this conversation with the corner much longer, Draco slipped his hands around her and turned her to face him. She tried to pull out of his light grip, but he held firm. "Why are you apologizing to me?"

"Because it was like I had no control over my own body. I didn't want it. I didn't, I swear! But my body was reacting, and it was like that stupid little wolf inside me was  _screaming_  at me to let it happen."

"Let . . . ? Hermione?" Draco said her name very slowly, a jagged feeling of ice tearing through the pit of his stomach. "Did Greyback—?"

"No." She shrugged again, her breath coming out in shivering little spurts of air. "At least I don't think so."

"You don't  _think_  so?"

"I don't know, okay? I was there standing with him, and he was telling me these terrible things, and the next thing I knew, I was back in my bed. But I don't have any soreness or injuries I can't account for, or anything, so I think he must've, I dunno, commanded my wolf to just go back to sleep, or something."

"But he touched you?"

Hermione nodded. Draco's hands felt so comforting after last night. Familiar, warm . . . but she wasn't certain she deserved familiar warmth, or comfort after what she'd let happen.

"I didn't want him to. But I felt like I couldn't stop him." She opened her eyes to meet his gaze, a fresh wash of tears welling in them. "But in my mind, I didn't want it. In my mind, in my heart—"

"In your heart?" Those grey eyes of his—the ones she'd grown up with being narrowed in snarky retorts, or wide in anger or fear—were so clear right now. So clear and open it made her chest ache.

Her brow furrowed, she scrunched up her face in an attempt to keep her tears at bay. "I know we act like we don't know what this is between us, but we do. Neither of us is that stupid. In my heart, all I want is  _you_. The  _only_ person I want touching me like that is you."

Draco shook his head, a sad frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Then come here and let me hold you properly."

"No."

It wasn't the word or refusal that hurt. It was her tone. That simple response dripped with self-loathing and sorrow.

Unable to keep the extent of it to herself any longer, Hermione relayed everything Greyback had told her.  _Everything_. She hated every word that fell from her lips. Despised the memory of his voice in her ear. The remembered feel of his teeth on her throat made her stomach turn.

The idea that he'd turned Draco in some effort to  _train_  her for him sickened her. The way he talked about the two of them as if he owned them made her so angry she thought she could burst into flames on the spot.

Recalling how he'd said it was her wolf that had called to him, that he'd responded and that's what started all of this . . . . Made her so bitterly remorseful over a thing she couldn't even remember happening that she wasn't sure there was a word to describe the emotion.

"I'm sorry," she said again when she finished recounting every vile detail.

Draco forced a gulp down his throat as he grappled with Greyback's disturbing revelations. One thing was crystal clear to him, though, even if he didn't want to understand the bulk of what had been explained.

Holding up one finger, he said, "Don't apologize to me anymore."

Hermione winced, bracing herself for him to shoot to his feet and stomp away from her. Bracing for the sound of the door slamming shut behind him.

"And stop torturing yourself."

She drew in a trembling gasp as she met his gaze. "What?"

"This was  _not_ your fault. Greyback knew what he was doing. He knew how to play your wolf against you, he practically said it himself. We have no reason to believe anything he said on that count, since he knows how to manipulate other werewolves the same way. I saw it when Voldemort had taken over my family's home." Draco shook his head, his expression serious, but calm. How he was managing to keep a level head just now when he really wanted to go tearing through the woods and track down Greyback was beyond him. True the elder wolf would probably hand him his arse with minimal effort, but that didn't dissuade Draco's mind from wondering how good it would feel to skin him alive.

Lifting his hand, he cupped Hermione's cheek. "If he really planned all this like he told you, then his intellect can't be underestimated. I mean, he's survived this long, hasn't he? That's not just sheer luck. You're blaming yourself for what he did, but you're forgetting that he knew more about handling someone like you, someone with wolf's blood, than you did. He clearly  _knew_  what your scent means about you. He had more information about the situation—about  _you_ —than you did, and he  _used_ that to his advantage."

The way he explained it . . . . It should be a relief. She knew she should listen, that his words made sense. But even with his understanding, she couldn't quite let go of how angry she was with herself.

"You really don't blame me?"

God, there was that crushing, tear-thickened tone in her voice again. "No."

She broke down then. Not fighting the action when Draco finally pulled her into his lap, she dropped her head down against his chest as her cries wracked her.

Through her sobs, he thought he could make out that she was talking, but damn if he could understand the garbled words. Wrapping his arms tight around her, he simply held her until she calmed. Every so often, he dropped a kiss against the top of her head, or smoothed her wild hair back from her face.

After what seemed like forever, Hermione felt her breathing steady. She felt the warmth of him curled around her, and heard the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear.

She wanted to stay like this forever. Letting him comfort and protect her like this. But even if Greyback wasn't out there, somewhere, lurking, she knew forever wasn't possible.

For the first time in a long time, she thought that it could be, though.

The rest of the world would probably insist they leave this room at some point, however.

"But he did this to you because of me."

Sighing, Draco pressed his cheek against the top of her head. "No. He did this to me because he  _wanted_  to, period. Any reasoning beyond that doesn't matter."

"Draco?"

"Yes, Granger?"

She was a little afraid to ask, but it was good to hear him say Granger. When he called her Hermione it only reminded her that he was worried, and thinking he was worried would only bring all her negative emotions screaming back to the forefront of her thoughts.

"Do you still want to be with me? I mean after . . . ."

Draco shifted her in his arms, tipping his head to meet her gaze. The look on his face clearly said he thought she'd gone mad. "None of what you've told me changes how I feel about you."

Wiping at her cheeks, she straightened up in his lap. "Really?"

A small smile softening his features, he nodded.

The question she'd been dreading spilled from her lips sooner than she could stop it. "Do you think you could love me?"

His eyes shot wide at those words. For the space of a heartbeat, he only stared at her in silence. Again he smiled, just as she started to fear what his answer might be.

"Of course I could." He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "You're a bloody genius, you're brave, compassionate. Honest to a fault, sometimes. You're sort of the whole package, if you discount that an utter psychopath of werewolf is after you."

In spite of everything she'd felt up until now, Hermione snickered. "How do you do that? How do you manage to make me laugh when I was just completely beside myself a few minutes ago?"

Letting out a short, breathy chuckle, he pressed his forehead lightly to hers. "It's the least a man can do for the girl he could love."

"Prat."

"You know you have to tell Professor McGonagall about what happened."

Oh, dear God. She _so_  did not want to do that. She knew she had to, but the necessity for it didn't make it any easier to consider.

"Which means . . . we should probably tell her about me, too."

She snapped back in his lap, wide-eyed and searching his face with her gaze. "Are you sure?"

Draco nodded. "He's after both of us. You said it yourself, he told you we're  _his_. After everything he lost when the War ended, he's not going to let us go that easy. He's going to double his efforts. If McGonagall knows that he's got more at stake than just making good on some threats he made against you, she'll be able to help better."

Hermione nodded. Curling up against him once more, she put her head on his shoulder. "Can we just be like this for a few more minutes?"

He tightened his arms around her, again pressing his cheek to her hair. "Just want to have some peace and quiet with the man you could love?"

She was smiling as she closed her eyes. She couldn't believe he was able to make her smile like this right now. "If you . . . if you took the word 'could' out of there, I wouldn't mind."

A breath tumbled out of him as he let his eyes drift shut. "Same for me, Granger."


	9. An Unexpected Turn

**Chapter Nine**

An Unexpected Turn

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at Madame Pomfrey's reappearance beside the bed in the school hospital upon which she was seated. Draco held her hand, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze as the Medi-witch nodded at a scroll open in her grasp.

Professor McGonagall, after hearing out their story—and declaring she'd have a little chat with Draco's mother about not apprising her of the situation in case Draco's changes  _hadn't_  been as easy to safely manage as Mrs. Malfoy had obviously hoped—insisted Hermione be examined, as a precaution, since she could not remember a portion of last night's terrible events. Madame Pomfrey, thankfully, was bound by an oath not at all dissimilar to the Muggle clause of doctor-patient confidentiality, and would only share with the headmistress what information was absolutely necessary.

"Well, taking into account what you two have told me of your recent . . .  _activities_ —" Hermione and Draco exchanged a wincing look at the pure judgeyness in the elder witch's tone—"my readings and the more thorough examination conducted this morning have detected only as much as what your explanations have already covered. That is . . . ." Madame Pomfrey paused, clearing her throat. "That is, Miss Granger, I can conclude that despite shall we say 'multiple encounters,' you've only had one partner recently, and that partner _is_  Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione thought she might fall over for the sweet relief sweeping through her at the Medi-witch's confirmation. She'd thought sure Greyback hadn't touched her any more than she actually recalled, but because she  _couldn't_ recall everything, a little niggling sensation of worry had remained lodged firmly in her gut.

"However, there's something else of which you both need be aware."

The couple shared another look before they each turned questioning expressions on Madame Pomfrey.

"Well, it's too early to tell for certain . . . ." Now it was the Medi-witch's turn to wince as she continued, "But there's a  _chance_ you might be pregnant."

"I . . . um . . . what?" Hermione breathed out the stammering words as her face fell. "But we used a contraceptive potion. A damn potent one, too!"

"Normally, the potion you used  _would_  be foolproof . . . when in use by fully-human sexual partners. I'm afraid due to Mr. Malfoy's affliction, it's been working at fifty-percent effectiveness—at best-the entire time. Perhaps even less so, if what you've told me of your own ancestry contributed at all to any diminishment of its potency."

Hermione only gaped back at the other witch, unable to form any further arguments. Completely unprepared for the sound of it, the thud of Draco hitting the floor made her jump.

Madame Pomfrey only rolled her eyes as she stooped to help the wizard to his feet. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy! For Heaven's sake," she said in a hissing whisper, shaking her head at his naturally dramatic—and too well-remembered-behavior.

* * *

"Do we really need to inform the Minister of this?" Hermione asked, not making the slightest effort to hide the pleading in her voice.

Professor McGonagall's expression was sympathetic, but her voice was stern as she answered, "We absolutely must, Miss Granger. If there's a chance you could be with child—and we  _know_  Greyback is somewhere on these grounds—we're going to need more Aurors here to protect you."

Draco shook his head, his face pinched in a clear look of anger and self-loathing. "Professor's right," he said as he pulled Hermione back to allow the elder witch uninterrupted communication with the Ministry.

"If . . . if I  _am_ , d' you think he was able to tell?"

Swallowing hard, he spoke through clenched teeth. "I think it might be why he didn't do more to you than what you remember."

Hermione glanced over at Minerva and dropped her voice to a whisper. "What do you mean?"

Draco couldn't even bring himself to meet her gaze. He was split into several, bickering parts over this. One part was completely in a panic—not only would his parents insist they marry, which he thought he didn't mind so much aside from the abruptness of it all, they'd have fits over the fact that their son was having a child with the most well-known Muggleborn witch in the whole of the Wizarding world,  _and_  he'd have to break it to his father that he was a werewolf. One insisted that he could be mature about this, Granger deserved him at his best if this was their situation, and while panicking would be wholly understandable, he was going to handle this calmly because she was going to need calm around her. Another part, entirely, was actually proud of the idea he might be a father. The last part, however, was what caused him to make such a grave expression as he glared daggers at the floor just now.

"I've lived with Greyback's wolves, remember? I've seen, firsthand, what he's like with them. If he thought you could be pregnant, he likely stopped himself from doing anything more because he knows how brutal he can be and didn't want to risk any harm coming to the baby."

"What? I don't understand." Well, it wasn't very often Hermione Granger uttered those words, and the shock and confusion of having to say them now showed on her face.

When Draco responded to her statement with an incredulous look, she held up her hands. "No, no, I understand what you mean about him being, um, brutal." What she didn't understand—what she didn't want to understand—was how Draco knew what Greyback was like in that sense. That the werewolf could be so brutal with his  _appetites_  that there was concern for a pregnancy that couldn't be more than a week along was the thing that really frightened her. "But why would the possibility that I'm pregnant stop him? I mean, he's practically feral. He should only care if it was his, and he knows there's no chance of that."

"Greyback's policy is to 'get them young.' His idea of perfection would be to bite his victim while they're a child, and raise them away from Wizarding society. Train them to hate wizards, like he does."

This was hardly the time for it, but the realization struck her like a thunderbolt with Draco's words. "That's why he bit Remus. Oh my God. He was going to do that to Remus. Greyback hated Lyall Lupin; he was going to turn his own son against him."

"Except that Lyall Lupin caught him in the act and drove him off."

Hermione nodded, all feeling seeming to leech from her as she fell into one of the chairs before the headmistress' desk. "You were right. His intellect can't be underestimated. That was something he did on a whim and it nearly worked. This? With you and me? He had time to plan. What if . . . ?" Her eyes welled up and she clamped a hand over her stomach. "What if he wanted this all along? He wasn't angry that you'd been with me, he was . . . oddly proud. He said you were preparing me for him, but what if it was more than that?"

"You mean does he view himself as father-by-proxy because he set this in motion?" Draco shrugged, that anger still pinching his features and keeping damn near every muscle in his body tensed, as though he was ready for a fight. "It's entirely possible. He's sick that way." Seeing her so defensive, already, over a baby that might not even be there only added to his ire.

She didn't like the feeling he was emitting. She doubted he even realized it, but he was absolutely seething and it _was_  palpable. And she couldn't help but turn the question about the source of his wrath inward. "So, is that rage you're feeling at me, or this situation, or . . . ?" She let her words trail off, a sad hint of helplessness edging her voice.

"What?" He at last snapped his gaze up to lock on hers. "No, no, Granger." Kneeling before her, he clasped both of his hands around one of hers as he let out a sigh. "I'm not angry at you, and certainly not angry that you might be pregnant—a bit mortified of how my parents will take it, but that's about all. It's him.  _And_  myself. I should be able to protect you, and I'm not strong enough to do it—not against him. I know that. If it were anyone else, I'd be able to tear them limb from limb, something I never thought I'd be able to say with confidence, but, you know, werewolf."

She couldn't deny herself a small laugh at the way he grinned as he said that. "You know I'm not one for letting others protect me. But it matters that you want to. And it matters that he's already proven I can't protect myself against him."

"Merlin, some pair we are, huh?"

Again she uttered a quiet laugh. "We're a mess."

A dazed look came into his eyes. "And we might be someone's parents."

Shaking her head, she made a feigned cooing sound as she pulled him close for a hug.

* * *

Hermione wasn't entirely comfortable with her new situation. She'd been forced to change rooms, taking instead an unused second floor classroom with no window as temporary quarters. Two Aurors were stationed outside the door, one a female so that accompanying Hermione to the toilet or washroom wasn't an issue. She felt it was all a bit . . .  _much_. Draco, Professor McGonagall ,and Madame Pomfrey were permitted to come and go from the room as they pleased and Draco, oh, dear, Draco . . . .

He'd tried to use the fact that Hermione might already be carrying his child to talk Professor McGonagall into allowing him to stay with her. What surprised the younger witch more was that the woman seemed to think it over before deciding he'd have a curfew for when he had to be on his way back to the Slytherin Dungeons—something of which the Aurors would make certain.

She understood it was only until Greyback was captured or killed. Even so, she hated the precautions. They made her feel helpless, and while yes, she _was_  helpless in this situation, she despised that everyone seemed content to constantly remind her that the feeling was not unfounded.

Only a few days of this had passed when Hermione already felt she was being driven spare. Draco accompanied her to classes, so as not to raise the suspicions of the other students by having an Auror tag along behind her all day. But after dinner, he escorted her back to her temporary quarters. She didn't socialize much with the current crop of Gryffindor students, so her absence from the tower didn't create much fuss, but even so, Professor McGonagall had assured the House that Hermione was assisting her with some research projects for the Ministry, and as it called for hours beyond the normal school curriculum, moving Miss Granger to a more accessible space for the time being was prudent. Of course, she hadn't disclosed the location of this 'more accessible space', or anyone could've realized the Muggleborn witch might as well be shut up in a cupboard for all the supposed accessibility her new room offered.

As ten o'clock of the fifth night of her 'captivity' rolled around, she was curled up on the small sofa in the room with Draco and was quite content not to let him leave.

He chuckled, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "I really do have to go, or they're going to come in here and drag me out by my collar. It won't be pretty, I'm telling you."

"Let them come," she said in a mock challenging tone. "We're a werewolf and a hero of the Second Wizarding War! We could take them, I bet."

Draco burst out laughing as he sat up. "Maybe, but I'm not looking forward to explaining the aftermath to the headmistress."

"Blast it, had to go and ruin it. I was ready to give it a go until you mentioned Professor McGonagall."

"Granger, I know you're feeling stifled right now, but they're scouring the Forbidden Forest as we speak."

Hermione frowned, arching a brow at him. "Oh, is that supposed to be comforting? I think not. They've been at that for days and found no sign of him. I hope you like this room, because chances are you me and our possible bundle of joy are just going to have to set up camp and live out our lives right here."

Again he laughed, cupping her jaw and kissing her. "Hey. In all that's happened, you haven't said. How _do_  you feel about that possible bundle of joy?"

A half-smile curved her mouth. "I don't know. I never even thought about motherhood before. At least, not in any immediate context. I thought I'd someday get married and my husband and I would decide, together, whether or not we wanted children. But . . . I feel like I don't want to think too long on either option. If I hope I'm not and it turns out I am, that'll only make it harder to adjust to impending motherhood. If I start to like the idea that I am and I find out I'm not, it'll break my heart."

"I get it. I suppose I've been the same way. A bit more defined about it. Half of me hopes you are, half of me is hoping you're not. It's very confusing."

"Well, good. At least we can be confused together."

As he laughed, the expected banging on the door sounded. Hermione glared at the sound, looking like she might actually loose a growl.

"And that's ten o'clock," he said, a mirthless smile on his lips. He stood from the sofa, even as the witch clung to him, trying to keep him put.

Snickering, he shook his head. "Granger . . . . Werewolf?"

Her frame slumping against his, she groaned. "Fine, fine." She kissed him and climbed down, an angry pout marring her features.

Draco caught her chin between his fingers, leaning close for a second kiss. "You're cute when you want me."

Still displeased with the situation, she snapped her teeth against his lower lip.

He leaned back, pressing his fingers to his mouth, but he didn't appear upset—he appeared intrigued. "I don't know if that was mean or sexy."

Lacing her fingers through his, she walked him to the door just as one of those bothersome Aurors poked their head inside. "Find out tomorrow. Goodnight Malfoy."

He smiled, dropping one final kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight Granger."

* * *

Draco hadn't let on to Hermione, but he was exhausted. He felt like he'd barely slept, and the truth was, he hadn't. Not recently. Each night, he found himself pacing as he hoped for some word on what was happening. Hoped Professor McGonagall would have some messenger come bursting into his room to wake him and bid him go to her office, straight away.

Hoped for the news that that bastard was caught. Oh, who was he kidding? Hoped for some news that the goddamned beast had been killed.

Dragging himself to his dorm in the dungeons tonight, he knew he couldn't put off getting sleep any longer. Of course, it didn't help that he felt as though the moment he did fall asleep,  _that_  was when something would happen.

Stepping into his room, he closed the door behind him and made a bee-line for his bed. He didn't even bother to put on the light or change into his nightclothes, blindly tugging off his robes as he crossed the room.

Draco stopped, mid-stride. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Inhaling deep of the air in his room, he recognized something  _off._

Swallowing hard, he lifted his wand. " _Lumos_."

In the wash of light, he saw Greyback reclined on his bed. Rage and fear tore through him in equal measure as those familiar amber eyes locked on his. The bastard _smiled_  at him.

Moving impossibly fast, Greyback was on his feet, standing before Draco—towering over him and clearly enjoying it. "Hello, pup. Miss me?"


End file.
